Robb Stark, A Wolf King
by Samwell Stark
Summary: Part 2 of 'A Time for Wolves' series. Robb has returned to King's Landing to begin establishing his governance as the one true King of Westeros, and to prepare his country for the Long Night, that he knows is approaching. These preparations will take him to Essos and beyond to find Daenerys Targaryen. Amongst the chaos, Robb still finds happiness with his Queen, Margaery Tyrell.
1. Chapter 1 - The Wolves Arrive

_**Author's Note: Welcome, welcome! This is the second episode of my 'A Time for Wolves' series, the first of which is called Robb Stark, First of his Name. This story is a direct sequel and follow Robb Stark establishing his reign as King of Westeros. Hope you enjoy! :)**_

* * *

Robb Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm was mounted atop a new shimmering grey destrier as he made his way through King's Landing towards the Red Keep. His betrothed, the Princess-Consort Margaery of the House Tyrell rode beside him as the citizens of King's Landing, held back by soldiers of House Tarly and House Tyrell, cheered wildly for their hero king and the Lady Margaery who had been a champion for the smallfolk through the devastation they faced, earning her their love.

"You've been busy, my lady." Robb smiled to her as the royal party rode up The Hook to Aegon's High Hill from the River Gate where the _Fury_ had docked.

"In your name, my love. You named me Princess-Consort. King's Landing needed us." She said back to him, looking back at Robb with as much longing as he looked at her with.

"Volantene and Pentoshi city planners? That must have cost an arm and a leg."

"Paid for by House Tyrell, fear not." She smiled, as the Red Keep came ever closer.

"I didn't my lady. What I do fear is not marrying you soon enough. How do you feel about trading the title of Princess for the title of Queen?" Robb grinned at her. Margaery flushed, looking at Robb.

"Are you certain?"

"We have much to talk about. But right now, I want preparations for our wedding to begin with all haste." Robb smiled, before finally he approached the gates of the Red Keep which were drawn up. Direwolf banners hung from the turrets as Robb rode into the courtyard.

"How much has been done while I was away?" Robb inquired to Margaery as he helped her off her horse and walked into the castle hand-in-hand with his betrothed.

"Mostly relief efforts from the fire. The prisoners have been filling the cells and we run out of room. Lords arrive by the hour to pledge you fealty, even those who just left you from Winterfell. They wish for a place in court. The city planners and builders are yet a fortnight away, but I have had your men clear the dead away and the ashes and ruins in preparation. Lord Tarly has ruled as Governor, I have spoken with your voice. Tyrion Lannister ever wishes an audience with you." Margaery informed her King as the two walked into the Throne Room, which was half-filled with noble lords.

"The Martells arrived soon after you left and have stayed here awaiting you and the Lannisters for months now. Prince Oberyn grows restless." Margaery sighed, squeezing Robb's hand.

"Also a man from the Iron Bank has arrived, his name is Tycho Nestoris, and I have been hosting him for almost a fortnight. He wishes to discuss the Iron Throne's repayments to the Bank." Margaery said, a touch of fear in his voice that Robb tried to vanquish by putting his arm around her.

"Aye. My love, I wish to see you in my chambers after this farce. We have much to discuss. But first…it seems I must hold court for the first time." Robb sighed to her, before pecking Margaery on the lips. Robb turned, looking ever regal as he walked the length of the Throne Room to the Iron Throne. The lords and ladies gathered kneeled as Robb's family and friends entered. The King himself climbed the long steps of the Iron Throne to take a seat, before he sighed.

"Rise and take audience, my lords and ladies." Robb called, his kingly voice echoing around the room

"Today is the eighth day of the first month of the 300th year after Aegon's Conquest, it is befitting that a new age for Westeros begin so early in the year. Today I will begin the long task of rewarding and punishing Houses from the war, I will name a Household for my House of Stark of King's Landing, and I will also appoint a number of persons to my Small Council and my Kingsguard. I ask for silence in the court as these proceedings go on." Robb called, bringing silence across the room as Robb's family filtered in.

"I firstly name my brother, Brandon, the new Lord of Winterfell and the Lord Paramount of the North. I also name him my heir, until a son is born to me." Robb said, glancing to Margaery who smiled back at up him with a wink.

"In the North, I legitimized my half-brother Jon Snow as Jon Stark, and named him Warden of the North until my brother Rickon is of maturity. Lord Jon Stark, Warden of the North, come before the Iron Throne." Robb called, grasping the pommel of a greatsword as he leaned forward on the uncomfortable throne.

Jon, who stood with his hand in Ygritte's, exchanged a look with her and Arya Stark, before marching from the back of the Throne Room to kneel before the Iron Throne.

"Your Grace. I have pledged you my service until the end of the days, ask of me anything." Jon repeated his vow, before the lords of the realm.

"I ask you to rise, Jon Stark, and serve as my Hand of the King, My brother, who I grew up with, my stalwart friend…there is no one I can trust more in this realm than you. I ask of you to accept this role, and assist me in rebuilding the Seven Kingdoms and preparing us for what is to come." Robb called, causing great murmuring across the hall that Jon silenced with his answer.

"I…I am deeply honored, my King…but surely-."

"Surely you must accept, Lord Jon Stark." Robb pressed, causing Jon to sigh, before bowing his head.

"I will serve you to the best of my ability, Your Grace." Jon promised, raising his head ot hold Robb's gaze.

"I know you will. Take your place by my side, my Lord Hand. Lord Varys, please present Lord Stark with the Hand's badge of office." Robb called, to the bald eunuch who hovered near the front of court. Varys tittered and smiled, before shuffling forward silent to hand Jon the golden badge of the Hand, that Jon fastened to the breast of his black leather doublet before moving to stand on the right side of the platform beside the Iron Throne.

"Lord Varys, please stay before the Throne." Robb commanded as the Spider tried to shuffle off.

"You have served me well since I took King's Landing. There has never been a finer Master of Whisperers. I offer you your old position on my Small Council, and I urge you to accept." Robb said, leaning on the right side of the throne to hold Varys's gaze.

"I am deeply honored, my King. I of course accept at once." Varys tittered, bowing deeply several times before moving to take the Master of Whisperer's seat by the Iron Throne.

"Ser Davos Seaworth! Step forth and kneel." Robb called of the Onion Knight who strode forward through the crowd who judged him heavily to kneel before Robb without a care.

"I name you Master of Laws on my Small Council. As a man who broke many of them in his youth, I am sure you will come up with creative and effective ways to enforce them." Robb said with a wry smile that Davos returned before bowing his head deeply.

"You honor me, Your Grace. I accept and thank you." Davos said, bowing once more before rising to uncertainly take the seat of the Master of Laws.

"Tyrion Lannister, come forth." Robb called, causing some gasps in the crowd as the Imp walked forth, his face half scarred from the attack by his sister.

"Tyrion of the House Lannister. Every member of your House is accused of treason, but I believe that you can be of value. Kneel before me. Swear me your service." Robb ordered of the dwarf, who stared up at Robb for a moment before he kneeled before the Iron Throne.

"I, Tyrion of the House Lannister, swear my faith to you, King Robb, first your name. I swear you my loyalty, and I swear you my service until the end of my days." Tyrion said, his words carrying across the hall despite his small stature.

"I name you Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West…and I ask you to serve on my Small Council as Master of Coin." Tyrion looked up in shock as did most of the court, Tyrion gaped for a moment before rising.

"Well, I suppose since its most of my money that's being seized, I should oversee it somewhat." Tyrion quipped to some laughs around the hal..

"I agree." Robb grinned. "Send word to Lady Maege Mormont to relinquish the castle for my own soldiers to transport the seized gold and jewels to the Royal Treasury at once." Tyrion nodded, rising to climb up the steps and take _his_ seat as Master of Coin.

"Ser Loras Tyrell, I ask you to step forward." Robb called of the Knight of Flowers who walked forward boldly to kneel before the Iron Throne.

"My sword and my life are yours, Your Grace!" Loras called, causing Robb to nod and smile briefly.

"Good. Then I ask you to dedicate your sword to my Kingsguard as Lord Commander. Stand before me now as my my sworn sword, and trade in your armor in the White Sword Tower after court had ended today." Robb commanded of the man who would be his brother-by-law. Loras looked deeply honored as he stood at once to stand in the Lord Commander's position before the Iron Throne.

"As a reward for their loyal service during the War of the Five Kings, I raise the masterly Houses of Glover and Tallhart to lordly status, and bestow upon both Houses a reward of six thousand golden dragons each, seized from the rebelling and traitorous Western Houses. I reward House Manderly of White Harbor one million silver moons seized from the mines of Sarsfield, I instruct them to expand their fleet and the city of White Harbor." Robb's orders carried on like this for much of the day.

"The gold and jewels seized from Casterly and Castemere will be used first and foremost to repay the loans to the Iron Bank, which I believe number somewhere near seven million golden dragons. The debt is great, and we will begin instant negotiations to relieve our country of this great burden." Robb declared, earning a cheer from the people in the Throne Room.

"Lastly for today, I announce that my wedding to Margaery Tyrell will take place within the fortnight. The journey has been long, and my bones are weary. I adjourn court for today, and invite you all to join me again the morrow where I shall finish naming my royal household and appointing offices in my court." Robb said, before rising from the Iron Throne to applause. Robb smiled wearily as he climbed down the steps of the Iron Throne.

Margaery was waiting for him, as was every man he had named to his Council, as well as his family.

"Margaery, my love. Tell me that you have named a temporary Steward." Robb asked of his consort, who nodded and smiled, snapping her fingers to summon a tall man she called Leo

"Leo, please show my mother and my siblings to chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, then have supper prepared and sent to the royal chambers. I intend to retire for the night." Robb said to the tall, brown haired man who bowed deeply.

"At once, Your Grace."

Robb and Margaery had barely closed the doors behind the King's Chambers before they embraced passionately in a kiss. Robb lifted Margaery up against the door as the two young nobles reunited.

"I missed you…" Margaery moaned as Robb's teeth grazed against her neck.

"Not as much as I missed you. I wish to ravish you, my Princess, but more than anything. I wish to sleep with you in my arms. Will you entertain a weary King?" Robb asked with a tired voice, causing Margaery to smile and hold her betrothed's face.

"Of course, my love. Let us rest." Margaery said, assisting Robb with removing his doublet and tunic, before the Young Wolf carelessly tossed his crown onto an overstuffed armchair and climbed into the large four-poster bed. Margaery herself removed the gown that she wore in Stark colors before joining Robb in nothing but her shift. The young couple did nothing dishonorable, only holding each other as Robb got some much deserved rest.


	2. Chapter 2 - Settling In

Robb was the first to fall asleep that night. Margaery herself had stayed awake, running her fingers through Robb's hair to soothe her betrothed as she knew he needed after so many months at war. Robb had never slept better.

But Margaery…Margaery had been somewhat horrified by the new scars that her King now bore, scars that he did not have the last time she had seen his bare torso. As Robb slept, Margaery had traced her fingers over a large, still scabbed scar on Robb's right pectoral muscle. Roose Bolton's dagger had nearly taken Robb's life, Margaery had learned already...but to see the scars on Robb caused her heart to ache in concern for the man who would be her husband. She had fallen asleep with great difficulty, until Robb turned around in his slumber to wrap his arm around Margaery's waist. She found peace then.

Outside their chambers, her brother Loras took to his new title with great passion.. Having exchanged his gilded armor of the Knight of Flowers for a form-fitting suit of white enameled scale plates and shining silver steel, that he had commissioned from Tobho Mott the moment he had arrived into King's Landing, Ser Loras took it upon himself to guard the King and his Consort that night, for he alone knew that Margaery and Robb were in there together, and did not allow anyone else to invade their privacy.

Robb, a young man still, awoke with what most young men did that morning, and with Margaery's shift having been hitched up to her waist throughout the night, she was pressed bare against Robb's manhood, causing the Wolf King some great discomfort as his betrothed began to stir.

"You haven't drawn a weapon on me in the night, have you?" Margaery asked. Her voice, still hoarse from sleep, was tinged with amusement as she further pressed herself back into her beloved, causing Robb to grunt and curl his fingers into the fabric of Margaery's shift.

"Don't…" he said reluctantly into her shoulder, causing Margaery to smirk.

"You want me to stop?" she asked, raising a hand to caress the side of Robb's from behind her as she continued to grind her bottom half against the King of Westeros, and her future husband.

"No." he growled, moving his hand to grip her thigh as he planted a kiss on the side of her neck, causing Margaery's skin to tingle.

She stopped torturing her betrothed to turn around and be met by a hungry set of Stark lips. Margaery was surprised, but easily melted into the passionate kiss as Robb's hand somehow found a way to graze what felt like every inch of Margaery's skin.

Neither of the two realized how loud they were being until a knock at the door caused them both to look up with irritation.

" _What?!"_ they both said in unplanned unison, before looking to each other and grinning.

"Your Grace, my lady…if I may please beg urgent audience with you." Ser Loras's voice carried through the door, causing Robb to bury his face in his hands as Margaery sighed and pulled the furs of the bed further up to cover her body.

"Enter!" Robb called, a noted growl in his voice as Loras quickly darted in to shut the door behind him.

"Sorry to interrupt, really I am. I know what it's like…anyway, I just wanted to say that…you both are _very_ loud…and as much as I am keeping the hallway clear, people can still hear you in the courtyard. You know I'm the last person to care about this sort of thing…but if people learn you two are doing the deed before marriage-."

"I know, I know. Dishonorable, etcetera…" Robb grunted, before sighing to look at Margaery who looked somewhat put out by the news.

"Look, until you guys get married…or find a quite place to go…" Loras advised with a tilt of his head, before bowing and leaving the room.

Margaery held Robb's hand in her own before perking up slightly.

"I suppose this just means we'll have to get married as soon as possible."

"Aye, it does." Robb chuckled, sitting back against the headboard to have Margaery curl up against him.

"Do you really believe that Jon will make the best Hand of the King….?" Margaery asked Robb as she traced her fingers over one of his healed scars that stood out white against his skin.

"I could have named the Blackfish, I grant you. But I intend to name him Master of War. I wanted to ask you…what would you think of my naming Garlan as master-at-arms of the Red Keep? There is no man I know who could be better suited to organizing the royal army, and perhaps one day train our children…?" Robb asked her hopefully, causing Margaery to smile. Robb could not see her smile as she took his hand in hers.

"I think it's a brilliant idea." She said, bringing his larger calloused hand to her lips.

"I am going to task Smalljon Umber with the City Watch. He's a man of honor…he'll clear out the corruption and fill their ranks with good men. Loyal men. That worm Janos Slynt left us a great mess to clean up."

"Yes, he did…but we can do it. Together." Margaery smiled, looking back up to Robb with a beam, causing the Wolf King to lean in and kiss her once more.

"If I am not married to you soon, I shall be greatly distraught." Robb said to her lips, causing Margaery to laugh.

"Very well, very well! I will begin wedding plans with all haste, though I'd be lying if I said I haven't been planning it since I arrived to King's Landing. All we are waiting on is my family's arrival, the stitching of the cloaks and…oh my Gods…I think that's it…we only have to stitch the cloaks…the High Septon already-…oh my Gods…" Margaery sat up with a sudden burst of excitement that confused Robb.

"We're getting married!" she exclaimed, as though it was just hitting her. Robb laughed uncertainly and nodded.

"Yes…we are…" he chuckled, taking her hand in his.

"I'm sorry…it's just been so long since we made our promise to each other, that I cannot believe the time is finally here. I am…excited…" she said, looking up to him with an angelic beam.

"As am I, my lady. But we should probably rise, I am to hold court yet again today. The city and the castle household is in tatters." Robb sighed, kissing Margaery's cheek before forcing himself to roll out of his new bed and cross to where a golden jug of water was sitting on a pedestal.

"Drink, my lady?"

"Yes, please." Margaery yawned, rising from the bed herself to find her discarded gown. Robb returned to her with a goblet, offering it to her with a smile as she gazed at him with golden brown eyes filled with affection.

"I have missed you." He said again, raising a hand to caress her cheek for a moment.

"I know." She smiled mischievously before drinking her water and beginning the arduous task of putting her gown back on.

"These are far easier to take off than put on…" she sighed several minutes later as Robb was sitting on a chaise munching on an apple and watching her.

"Don't just sit there, Robb Stark! Help me." She reprimanded sternly, causing Robb to laugh and rise, apple between his teeth as he pulled the gown loose from where it was bunched over her arms and eased it over her head, before the material fell elegantly to her feet. Margaery shook her hair free before giving Robb an impressed sort of nod.

"How did you-?"

"Arya hates her dresses, I had to help her a lot when we were younger." Robb chuckled, causing Margaery to tilt her head.

"She's very protective of you, isn't she?" Margaery asked Robb as they took each other's arms to walk out of the Royal Chambers together.

"We're protective of each other, in truth. Something father always used to tell us…always used to lecture us about. He would sit us down…"

* * *

 _"What are our words?" Ned Stark would ask of his children,_

 _"Winter is coming, " Arya or Robb or Bran would shout first._

 _"The hard cruel times," their father would say. "You've all known the sweetness of summer, yes even you Robb, you've never known anything else, but now the winter is truly coming. Remember the sigil of our House, children." Ned would implore of his children as he paced before all six of them in the library of Winterfell._

 _"The direwolf," Arya would say, causing Ned to smile briefly and nod._

 _"Let me tell you something about wolves, children. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths, and kill those who would do us or our pack harm. Do you all understand?"_

* * *

"It was a hard lesson to learn…it took father's death and all of us being scattered around the Seven Kingdoms to learn that we needed to stay together. After we nearly married Sansa to Joffrey, I think Arya is just overprotective of me. She'll see how wonderful you are." Robb assured Margaery as they made their way to Margaery's chambers in Maegor's Holdfast.

"How are you so sure, Robb Stark?" Margaery asked with the corner of her mouth rising in a crooked smile.

"Because I am. And because I love you. Have a good day, let us lunch together today when I break from court." Robb said, leaning against the archway of Margaery's chamber door as she leaned against the door itself to smile at Robb.

"Maybe. I might be a bit busy though…I'm to marry a King, you know?"

"A King? Bah. You can do better." Robb grinned, causing Margaery to laugh before shaking her head.

"I don't think I could if I tried."

"Neither could I." Robb smiled, taking her hand in his for a moment before turning on his heel to stride down the corridor. Margaery herself smiled, before closing her chamber doors.

* * *

Robb walked through the courtyard of the Red Keep which bustled with soldiers and servants loyal to him, all of whom bowed and greeted their King with respect and love that Robb returned.

Jon joined him from the Tower of the Hand, looking most disconcerted from having stayed in such luxury.

"You made a mistake picking me…" Jon said instantly as Ghost and Grey-Wind ran up behind their masters.

"I don't think I did. I will be making some tough decisions in the months to come…you've always been a tenderheart, far more than I. I will need that." Robb said as they climbed the steps of the Great Hall.

"Fine. Then we will need to have a Small Council meeting at once. Tonight."

"Ooh, getting commanding. I like that. Watch it, Jon. I may just get the High Septon to marry us like Targaryens of old." Robb teased, causing Jon to sigh and roll his eyes.

"Not now…" he muttered as they pushed the doors of the Great Hall open to see that the throne room was packed full of people, some of whom were sitting or loitering about, until Leo, the man that Margaery had appointed as Robb's temporary Royal Steward, saw the King and brought attention to the Great Hall.

"All rise for His Grace, King Robb of the Royal House Stark, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" silence came across the crowd instantly as Robb walked the length of the throne room to climb atop the Iron Throne once more. As uncomfortable as the old beast was, Robb was growing quite fond of the powerful and monstrous chair that unified the Kingdoms.

Grey-Wind and Ghost who trotted behind Robb and Jon brought gasps and some squeals of fear from the southern lords and ladies who had not seen such fearsome beasts.

Grey-Wind followed Robb up onto the platform of the Iron Throne, stopping just below the first step to sit and stare out at the crowd with fierce, glowing yellow eyes. Ghost moved to sit beside Jon, who sat to the right hand side of the Iron Throne as Hand of the King.

"Leo Tyrell, Steward appointed by Princess-Consort Margaery Tyrell." Robb called the tall and grey-haired Leo before the Iron Throne, where he kneeled faithfully. "I name you permanently to that position in my household and task you with finding candidates for the Stablemaster, the Kennelmaster and the Head Cook. Also have all Lannister serving maidens and cupbearers sent back to Casterly Rock."

"At once, Your Grace. What of a master-at-arms?" Leo Tyrell inquired, rising from his kneel.

"I invite Ser Garlan of House Tyrell, second son of Lord Mace to take up the post of Master-at-Arms in King's Landing. Have a raven sent to him at once, but remain in attendance for I shall certainly have more messages for you to send. The first of which is addressed to Lady Lysa of House Arryn and her son, Lord Robert. The Vale's neutrality throughout the War of the Five Kings has not been forgotten, I wish for the Vale to swear allegiance to the Iron Throne at once. Have ravens sent to all the great castles of the Vale requesting oaths of fealty, those who respond immediately will be rewarded."

"At once, Your Grace. Though…there are a number of Vale lords who have come to seek your audience already…" Leo said up to the Iron Throne, causing Robb to look across the great, gathered audience he had.

"My lords of the Vale, step forward." Robb called. Five men of different noble Houses assembled before the Iron Throne. Ser Andar Royce of Runestone, eldest son and heir of Lord Yohn; Ser Borumund Belmore of Strongsong, eldest son and heir of Lord Benedar; Ser Lucas Corbray of Heart's Home, youngest brother of Lord Lyonel; Ser Desmond Egen of Castle Egen, brother to Lord Tomas; and lastly Ser Jasper Redfort of the Redfort, eldest son and heir of Lord Horton.

"Your Grace, on behalf of our noble fathers and Houses, we have come to King's Landing to pledge you the fealty of Houses Royce of Runestone, Belmore, Corbray, Egen and Redfort of the Vale. Our fathers long pressed Lady Lysa to support your cause before you laid claim the Iron Throne, they support you still." Andar Royce, the boldest of the lot spoke on behalf of his party as he kneeled before Robb.

"I am grateful for these words, but these words did not give me men when I needed them most." Robb's voice was stern, and there was a tension in the hall for a moment "But I cannot fault your fathers for abiding by their liege lord. A new age has begun where Starks rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I shall accept oaths from you on behalf of the Lords you serve, but I shall also expect written pledges of fealty from them at once. Say your words, my lords." Robb declared, sitting back in the Iron Throne as five of the strongest Vale Houses swore themselves to Robb Stark and the Iron Throne.

"Your Grace, Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne!" Leo called, spotting Oberyn and his party enter the Great Hall. Whispers and murmurs took the hall at once as the crowd parted to allow Oberyn straight down the grand walkway to stand before the Iron Throne. Oberyn and Robb held each other's gazes for a long, long moment, before Oberyn's eyes flicked down to the growling Grey-Wind. The Red Viper smiled then, showing a full row of white teeth, before he kneeled before Robb. Grey-Wind whined slightly before licking his lips and settling back down calmly, accepting that Oberyn was not an enemy.

"Your Grace, I come as an envoy from my brother, Prince Doran, Lord of Sunspear. We have received your raven, and we were most surprised at your offer. It has been many months now since that raven came, and many months since I have arrived here to King's Landing to wait for you." Oberyn explained, that confident smirk never leaving his handsome features.

"I was fighting a war, Prince Oberyn."

"Meaning no offense, Your Grace." Oberyn said rising from his kneel to gaze at Robb once more.

"But you sent us a promise…justice for Princess Elia Targaryen, raped and murdered by the Lannisters. Does that promise still stand?" Oberyn asked, his features darkening though a smile was still in place. Robb did not hesitate in his answer.

"Yes. Tywin Lannister awaits you in a Black Cell. The false knight Gregor Clegane as well. What I did not know when I sent you that raven…was that Amory Lorch was dead, murdered at Harrenhal by unknown means. His life, I cannot offer to you anymore." Oberyn took a deep breath, thinking on this for a moment before nodding.

"Even a King cannot predict the will of the Gods. You have promised us justice in exchange for loyalty. You have made good on your promise, and I deem you a worthy and just ruler for Dorne. Sunspear and House Martell pledges their allegiance and loyalty to King Robb Stark, First of His Name!" Oberyn's voice carried across the hall, bringing silence as Robb felt relief spreading through his body. Dorne was in the fold, the Seven Kingdoms were near-united once more.

"Excellent. In turn, I offer you a seat on my Small Council, Prince Oberyn, to sit as counsellor on the political affairs that are sure to plague my rule for the years to come. Do you accept?" Robb asked, causing Oberyn to look taken aback for a moment, never since the days of Daeron the Good had a King on the Iron Throne shown such respect for Dorne.

"I accept." Oberyn smiled, nodding his head once.

"Good. Leo, see that the prisoners Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane are put into Prince Oberyn's custody, send a force of three-hundred men to escort them back to Dorne and ensure that the Mountain is as shackled as he can possibly be." Robb called to his Steward who nodded, scratching away with a quill on a parchment that listed all of Robb's orders.

"Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank of Braavos, I invite you to join a Small Council meeting this evening at dusk." Robb called, unaware of where this stranger from the Free Cities was standing amongst his court, but knowing full well he did not wish to discuss the outrageous debt the Seven Kingdoms suffered in open court.

"Smalljon Umber, Heir to Last Hearth and Dacey Mormont, Heir to Bear Island, my dearest friends and closest advisors. Step forward." Robb's voice was warm as his best friends walked from where they had been standing together near the front of the hall to kneel before the Iron Throne with some apprehension.

"Smalljon, you are one of the few of whom I greatly trust in this world. I appoint you to a task that befits a warrior of your repute and a man of your honor. Smalljon Umber, I name you Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing and I task you to clear the City Watch of all corruption and inept and criminal Watchmen that have filled the ranks of the Gold Cloaks during the traitor Janos Slynt's tenure." Smalljon looked greatly taken aback by this proposal, but nodded his head after a moment or two and rose from his kneel with that customary Smalljon grin.

"I accept your generous offer, Your Grace...and I promise you. I'll clean those shits right up." Smalljon said, causing a gasp in the crowd before Robb himself laughed along with Dacey and Jon Stark. This was not Southern Court of frills and falsehoods, King Robb Stark's court was going to be a Northern Court.

"Good. Hop to it. Dacey Mormont, Heir to Bear Island and my dearest friend and wisest advisor. I ask you to also accept a place on my Small Council as a trusted counselor, and to become the Field General of my standing Royal Army that is anchored in the Blackwater. You led these man through the war, I can think of no-one better to lead these men through peace." Dacey's eyes widened greatly as more whispers to Robb's court. Gods he hated these southerners, he would need to start replacing them with trusted courtiers sooner rather than later.

Dacey and the court were surprised for the fact that a woman had traditionally never held such an important office and title in the court of Kings. Robb Stark was however determined to change tradition where it was needed, he looked at Dacey with encouragement in his eyes and his old friend rose as well with a beam and a nod.

"You honor me beyond words, Your Grace. I gladly accept." Dacey bowed her head before moving to stand with Smalljon.

"Before I adjourn court for lunch, I make one last final proclomation to invite all knights great and small across the Seven Kingdoms to present themselves before the Iron Throne as candidates for the White Cloak. That is all for this morning, my lords and ladies." Robb stood, his ass feeling very sore as he walked down the steps to meet with Jon.

"Lord Tyrion tells me that counts from the seizures and confiscations are still rolling in and that at this rate the Iron Throne will not only be able to pay off all of our debt in one go, but we will be in a surplus of almost five _millio_ n golden dragons so far. Isn't that incredible?" Jon breathed to his brother, the King. Robb looked taken aback for a moment before chewing his lip.

"Have Lord Tyrion prepare extensive numbers for me to go over, I want to know exactly how much we have."

"Of course, Your Grace." Jon smiled, bowing his head before turning to find the Halfman.

Ser Loras stood behind Robb faithfully, until the Young Wolf called him to his side as they walked.

"I intend to name one more person to the Kingsguard, someone I have absolute faith in, and someone who has protected my mother and sister without fail." Robb said to Loras as the two men walked out into the courtyard of the Red Keep.

"Of course, Your Grace. Who is he?" Loras inquired

" _She_ …is Brienne of Tarth."

* * *

Author's Note: Robb's shakin' thingss uppppp. Leave a review!


	3. Chapter 3 - The Big Council

"Loras looks most unhappy with you." Margaery commented, before popping a strawberry into her mouth. Robb and Margaery were taking a quiet moment together to share lunch in the Queen's Gardens. Margaery had already brought gardeners, landscapers and workmen from Highgarden to transform the Gardens, that Cersei Lannister had let go barren, into something worthy of a Queen from Highgarden as, Margaery would soon be. They worked diligently behind the pavilion that Robb and Margaery were taking their privacy in.

Margaery herself was wearing a beautiful turquoise dress, her back to the sea, one leg folded beneath her as she looked at Robb who had removed his cloak and crown and undone the top few buttons of his doublet while he lounged on the chaise that Margaery sat on, his head in her lap. He was not used to the heat of the King's Landing yet and had a cup of iced milk pressed to his forehead.

"Aye. Probably because I told him of my plans to name Brienne to the Kingsguard." Robb sighed, his eyes closed as he focused his attention on the cold metal against his skin.

"Oh, I see. That would definitely do it. He still doesn't like her very much, and she holds bad memories for him…for Renly." Margaery sighed, pulling Robb's goblet away from his hands to pour the milk out before dumping the ice in one of the many loose shawls scattered around the pavilion.

"Here." She said, placing the icepack atop his head, more evenly distributing the cold. Robb who had sat up in protest initially, tamed like a wolf to a puppy as the cold pack soothed his overheated head.

"I know that Loras doesn't like her, but her prowess as a warrior cannot be denied. According to my mother, she almost single-handedly fought off a group of bandits that tried to attack them on the road North. Mother took her into her service, and now I intend to do the same." Robb explained, his hand moving behind his head to interlock his fingers with Margaery's who smiled.

"I have no complaint, my love. I think that Brienne will make a fine Kingsguard. And I also hear you have named Dacey Mormont to the Small Council." Margaery said, rather pointedly. Her sweet wolf was however oblivious as his eyes remained closed.

"Yes, Dacey's a loyal friend and a trusted counselor. How could I not name her? It would be as silly as trying to keep you from the Small Council." Robb's words caused Margaery to raise a eyebrow.

"You want me on the Small Council?" she asked with a certain tone of surprise.

"Have you not been holding the city in my name while I was away North?"

"But…even now…even after we marry…you want me there?" Margaery asked curiously, causing Robb to finally open his eyes and sit up to look at her.

"Especially now, and even more especially after we marry. Margaery…you've given me nothing but wise counsel, and look at what you've done with the city." Robb gestured to a map of King's Landing that had been lying on a table in front of the King and his consort.

Robb had not truly appreciated the magnitude of the disaster until he had walked out of the Great Hall that morning and joined Margaery in the gardens. There he saw it all, the great black, still smoking ruin of Rhaenys's Hill and Flea Bottom. Tyrell and Stark men were working at full force to clean up the area and prepare it for the city planners and engineers that Margaery had commissioned from Volantis and Pentos.

"Tell me again _why_ Volantis and Pentos?" Robb asked Margaery as he leaned forward to study the new plans for Rhaenys's Hill that Margaery had drawn up.

"I had to have Varys use his little birds to find these particular groups, Robb. There are only three living men who have studied what remains of the Valyrian craftsmanship. All three have been invited here with their apprentices and a dozen crewman of their choosing each. We will have more workmen waiting for them here. It has been expensive…but I chose these men so that your city… _our_ city is truly a city of Kings. They will build drains and ditches that are _beneath_ the ground and use the water from the sea and Blackwater Rush to pump the filth out into deep cesspits that we shall hire gong farmers to clear, far away from King's Landing. This city will never smell of piss and shit any longer, not while the Starks rule." Margaery had sat forward to explain her plans to Robb. Though her words were calm and her mood the same, Robb could tell that Margaery was excited by these plans. It would change the shape of a city that had stunk and grown for 300 years.

"We are going to construct wider cobblestone and paved roads, there will be a greenery and a dozen smaller public gardens for the children to play and the people to enjoy a nice day. We will construct public pools using water from the Rush within the city walls for days when the sun is boiling. The people will love you for changing their lives, and if you have the loyalty of King's Landing, you have Westeros." Margaery stated, looking up to a smiling Robb.

"You are brilliant, you know that?"

"I know." She smiled, before leaning forward to continue explaining her plans to overhaul King's Landing and transform it into the Wolf's City.

"Where the Dragonpit once stood, I suggest you construct a fortress for the Royal Army to use as their barracks." Margaery said, causing Robb to nod thoughtfully in agreement.

"Do you like Red?" Margaery asked after a bit more discussion, her eyes drawn to the castle in front of them.

"Not particularly. I prefer my castles to be made of granite…but that's just the Stark in me."

"I prefer white stone." Margaery grinned as Robb laid his head back down on her lap.

"Is Highgarden made of white stone? Now that _does_ sound nice…" Robb muttered to himself causing Margaery to laugh.

"I suppose we can only do so much with King's Landing. It has stood for three-hundred-years, and maybe three-hundred-years from now the Red Keep will be called the White Keep as our progeny rule the Seven Kingdoms from inside its' walls." Margaery said somewhat dreamily, causing Robb to laugh.

"I am glad to see you feel the same about this castle as I do. I was speaking to Smalljon and Dacey at the Twins a few months ago, and I remember saying to them that I wish to seize Harrenhal and turn it into the new capital. But I realize now it is impossible. As you say, he who holds King's Landing is King." Robb said to Margaery, rubbing his eyes as he spoke tiredly.

"Harrenhal? Now there's an idea." Margaery spoke thoughtfully, tapping her lip.

"I said the same, but its in ruins. Aye, I've claimed it for the Crown, but I have not the men nor the plans to restore it."

"Well…my King…would you grant that project to me? Harrenhal is absurdly large and there remains enough stone to be taken down to build a newer, stronger keep and castle. Harrenhal _is_ in the center of the Kingdoms."

"But its also in the Riverlands. Though…it _is_ one of the most strategic castles in the Kingdoms, it would be a shame to give it away…" Robb sighed, causing a moment of silence to take the King and his consort as they both thought on the problem.

Margaery and Robb had by now become very attuned to one another, and arrived to the same idea at virtually the same time. They locked gazed as Robb sat up abruptly. Margaery tilted her head as Robb opened his mouth to speak but stopped and held up a finger to point at her.

"Are you thinking-?" Robb asked, only to be cut off by Margaery.

"Maybe. What are you-?"

"Rebuild and fortify then name it the seat of-." Robb started, his smile growing wider as Margaery interrupted him.

"The heir to the Throne."

"Oh my Gods!" Robb laughed, leaning back to clasp his hands together in amazement.

"How did we come to that same idea at the same time?" Robb asked, leaning forward to hold Margaery's cheek as he kissed her.

"So we're agreed? After King's Landing is done, we will send these builders to Harrenhal to tear it down and build it back up?" Margaery asked, pulling away from Robb as she held his face in both hands.

"Yes, and after it's done, we name it the Seat of the Heir to the Iron Throne. Our first son will be the Prince of Harrenhal." Robb confirmed with a nod and a smile.

"And what a Prince he will be." Margaery beamed, kissing Robb once more.

"Here's hoping, my lady. Alas, I must return to court now. But do not forget that we have a Small Council meeting at dusk."

"I shan't, my King. Good luck." Margaery smiled, pecking Robb on the lips as he stood up to leave. He left his cloak with her and picked up his crown to swing it around his index finger for a moment before carefully replacing it on his head.

"I should probably stop doing things like that…" Robb said back to Margaery who rolled her eyes at him.

As Robb left, Margaery remained on the pavilion. She had always loved being outside, and with Flea Bottom destroyed, the horrid smell of King's Landing was replaced by a fresh sea breeze, the blooming plants that were being carted around by her gardeners in front of her, and the smell of bread and meat wafting from the kitchens. This was how a capital should smell, Margaery thought to herself as she closed her eyes to take a deep breath.

"You look like you might fall asleep, child." Margaery's eyes whipped open to see her grandmother sitting before her. She had not even heard Olenna Tyrell's footsteps.

"You get quieter every day…" Margaery smirked, causing her grandmother to laugh.

"Good lunch with the King, hm?" Olenna asked, leaning forward to pick a fig from the trays that had been placed before Robb and Margaery earlier.

"Don't be so mocking, grandmother. Robb is a very good man, and he's going to be a great king."

"My, my. All these years training you, and Robb Stark seems to have gotten the better of you anyway." Olenna sighed.

"That's not true. Robb respects me, and he's given me a seat on the Small Council that he wants me to hold. He's appointed Dacey Mormont as his Field General. Robb is different, grandmother." Margaery insisted. Olenna did look up at her words of the Small Council, mildly impressed before returning to her fig.

"And how go your preparations for the wedding?" Olenna asked, causing Margaery to simmer down slightly and smile.

"Very well. All the Great Houses have pledged attendance through one member or another. The Sept is to be decorated tomorrow, and construction on the wedding pavilions will take place once the gardens have been finished. It will be an elegant but simple feast with the finest entertainment for both Houses to enjoy. I am told mother, father, Willas and Garlan will arrive just in time for the ceremony."

"Let us hope. The sooner you are Queen, the better. So he named his bastard brother to the Hand's office, eh? Foolish." Olenna said with a shake of her head.

"Jon has been legitimized, grandmother. There is no-one Robb trusts more than Jon."

"And he has also been named Warden of the North? Why doesn't your pretty-boy King name him Heir to the Throne then slit his own throat for him too?" Olenna asked derisively.

"Grandmother! You don't know Jon."

"Do you?" Olenna countered, causing Margaery to falter and look down.

"How will the boy serve as Hand _and_ Warden of the North?" Olenna asked

"Robb has stated that the title is purely for times of war and battle when the Lord of Winterfell is needed to lead the Northmen to war. He trusts that peace will hold while the men gather the harvest, and as soon as his brother Rickon is of maturity he intends to transfer the title to him."

"But what of the _Hand_ Margaery? It is the second most powerful position in the Seven Kingdoms and a bastard boy holds it. It could spell the end for us all if you do not get a handle on things, and soon." Olenna warned Margaery who fumed silently for a moment before nodding.

* * *

The Small Council chambers were behind the Throne Room, and while Robb had been away Margaery had already taken the liberty of forging a new chair for him that held the direwolf's sigil rather than the lion and stag of the extinct House Baratheon of King's Landing.

It was on that very chair that Margaery found him when she walked into the Small Council chambers, dressed in an elegant gown of forest green. The Small Council was no longer so small, with Robb having named a number of people to it in the past two days. Jon Snow sat to Robb's right as Hand of the King, Ser Davos Seaworth sat as Master of Laws, Varys as Master of Whisperers, Tyrion Lannister as Master of Coin, Ser Loras Tyrell as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Smalljon Umber as Commander of the City Watch, Dacey Mormont and Oberyn Martell held untitled seats. Margaery sat to Robb's left, bringing the grand total to 9 members.

"Well. This is a _very_ big Council. And we have still yet to appoint a Master of Ships or a Grand Maester." Tyrion Lannister pointed out, causing eight pairs of eyes to flick down the table towards him.

"Brynden Tully will also be sitting in as Master of War until the realm is at peace." Robb announced "I was well aware of what the number would be when I made my decision, Lord Tyrion. Everyone sitting here, and who _will_ sit here, does so for a specific purpose that I have intended."

"Pray tell, Your Grace?" Tyrion asked, causing Robb to sigh and glance at the door where the Braavosi banker had yet to arrive before he placed his elbows on the long table, that comfortably accommodated them all, to steeple his fingers.

"Where should I start? With you? I could have had you join your family, but I know that you have one of the greatest minds in the Seven Kingdoms. You have the heart of a lion, and I know this because you led the defense of King's Landing _against_ me while men twice your height ran and the King you served hid and ordered your murder. I believe that not once in your life has anyone given you any faith. I am giving you that faith now, faith that you will use your skills to help me rule Westeros well." Robb's fierce words silenced Tyrion for the first time, causing the Halfman to swallow and look down as his eyes shined slightly.

"Who next? Prince Oberyn? One of the most feared warriors in the Seven Kingdoms? The man who has ruled Sunspear in his brother's name? A man who I am told is a man of honor and respect by someone who he crippled. Willas Tyrell vouches highly for you, and I know that a man with life experience such as yours will have nothing but wisdom and _excellent_ stories to share. I know little of Dorne and House Martell and I wish for that to change, that is why I hope you and I will become firm friends."

"You gave me the Mountain, you can have anything of me you want." Oberyn said, spreading his arms with that usual grin of his before folding his arms once to nod at Robb with appreciation.

"Jon Stark is here because I grew up with him as my brother. He served the Night's Watch and would have sacrificed his life to protect the realms. He was cast in an ice cell for his loyalty and cursed as a traitor. I know that Jon will be loyal to me until the day he dies, and I also know that nobody knows me better than Jon Stark. While I may make decisions that can at times be called ruthless, or father forgive me, even dishonorable…Jon Stark's compassion will always keep me on the right path to ruling the Seven Kingdoms and navigating my way through rule these early few years." Robb said, placing a hand on Jon's shoulder, causing the other Stark to blush and bow his head in gratitude to his brother.

"And Margaery is here because she is to be my Queen, and while most of us warred in the North, she brilliantly organized the relief efforts of this city. She has shown me time and again that she was born to rule, and through her guidance and counsel, I know that I will lead Westeros to a better place. I have reason for each of you here, now we can crack a barrel of the Northern ale and have a big group cry about it afterwards, but first I want this Iron Bank problem resolved." Robb finished, causing his Council to nod with renewed respect for Robb's choices.

Varys remained staring at Robb with great curiosity for a moment longer than the others. Margaery, who had taken Robb's hand in her own as he finished speaking, gave him a smile before releasing his hand as the doors opened and Leo Tyrell, Robb's Steward heralded Tycho Nestoris.

Robb and the Council respectfully rose as the Braavosi entered the chambers. The only thing Robb could think off when looking at this man was of a purple stick. Everything about Tycho Nestoris was tall and skinny, from his tall, thin body, to his narrow, gaunt face, to his long and skinny beard which ran down to his waist. He wore a brimless three-tiered hat of purple felt, with robes of a sober purple trimmed with ermine and a high stiff collar. Robb tried to keep himself from staring as Tycho took a deep bow before the Small Council.

"Your Grace, my lords and ladies. Thank you for honoring me with this invitation here. I humbly serve the Iron Bank of Braavos, and on behalf of the Bank, we congratulate you King Robb Stark, First of Your Name, on your great victories here." Tycho said as Robb and the Council retook their seats and Tycho remained standing before them with a large book under his arm.

"Thank you, my friend. Though I did not go seeking to claim this Throne and its' problems."

"The Bank is well aware of your history, Your Grace. As soon as war broke out here, we took a keen interest in all the players. We, in truth, had not expected you to win, but we are most glad that you have. A good ruler of Westeros means great things even across the Narrow Sea." Tycho said with an incline of his head to Robb who tapped his fingers on the table.

"I thank you, but these words do little to solve the problem that faces us. May I offer you a chair and a mug of Northern ale before we begin?" Robb said, raising a hand to gesture to Leo Tyrell who stood vigilantly at the corner of the room.

"That would be most welcome, Your Grace."

When the ale was poured and Tycho sat across from Robb and his Council at the long, great table, Tycho placed the large leather-bound book he carried on the table before him.

"I have had my men count and recount these figures, and we have finally acquired the total number that the Iron Throne owes the Iron Bank." Tycho said, lowering his mug of ale before pushing the book towards Robb and Margaery who both braced themselves before looking at the number. Margaery raised a hand to her mouth in shock while Robb started to laugh at what was before him.

"Gods…be good. And this is all Petyr Baelish's doing was it? Eight million _fucking_ galleons over twelve years."

"Technically seven million, eight-hundred and forty-three thousand two-hundred and twenty-one." Tycho said before pursing his lips as everyone the Council gawked at him.

"This is outrageous. We can't be expected to pay back everything that Petyr Baelish took. King Robb beheaded the man for treason, he was leading the Kingdoms right for chaos." Jon said fiercely to Tycho, placing a clenched fist on the table as he did so.

"True enough, my lord. But one way or another, the Iron Bank will have its due. We understand that you claimed a troubled Throne, and while we appreciate that. We still demand that our loans be paid. We are willing to negotiate on interest repayment rates-."

"How much does the Iron Bank expect and when?" Robb asked tersely, causing Tycho to smile thinly.

"Twenty-thousand golden dragons by the end of the next month." Tycho said, causing a wave of protests from the Small Council. All except Margaery and Robb who looked at each other as though they were silently communicating before Robb nodded once at her and turned back to Tycho.

"My lord Tycho-."

"I am no lord, Your Grace."

"A form of courtesy here in Westeros, I invite you to remain in King's Landing as my guest while the crown consolidates its first repayment to you."

"A generous offer, Your Grace, I of course accept."

"Good. Leo, see that Tycho Nestoris is given finer chambers and any drink or food he wishes." Leo Tyrell bowed, before leading the dismissed Tycho away.

The moment the doors to the Chambers closed everyone on the Council started to shout things at once, until Robb stood up to bring silence.

"One at a time, or I will ensure the Small Council grows smaller. Lord Tyrion, what say you first and foremost?"

"The man is brazen, but I think it would be unwise for us to default on our payments. You have more than enough gold to clear the debt coming in from what you seized from Casterly Rock and the West. I say pay the man and be done with it. Earning good will with the Iron Bank early in your rule is not something to be disregarded." Tyrion Lannister advised, causing some of the others to shake their heads.

"He's too brazen! How dare he hold us to ransom like this? He is one man and Robb is the King!" Loras declared causing Robb to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"He's not holding us to ransom, Loras. You remember what Grandmother used to tell us of the Iron Bank? One way or another they always get their gold. The man may be one man, but the Iron Bank is the Iron Bank and they are more dangerous than any soul here. Even Prince Oberyn." Margaery said, offering the Red Viper an apologetic glance. Oberyn merely smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"I like this one. She is smart, and she's right. The Iron Bank is dangerous, I've seen them at work. They don't care whether it's our debt or not. They want their payment." Oberyn said, looking to Robb "I agree with Tyrion, pay them."

"I also agree, Your Grace. I've sailed to Braavos more than once, they have enough gold to crush us and replace you with another King of their choosing. It would be nothing but a game to them." Ser Davos Seaworth spoke up, earning a curious gaze from Oberyn.

"The Onion Knight they call you? Why is that?"

"Long story. I'll tell you over a cup o' ale." Davos chuckled to Oberyn.

"I didn't like his attitude, he was all smiles and compliments, but I could tell he didn't respect any of us, he doesn't think we can pay…but what everyone else says gives me reason to act with caution." Jon sighed when Robb looked to him for counsel "Make the repayment, get them off our back and as Lannister says, good will with the Iron Bank won't go amiss." Robb rose as Jon spoke, moving to pace in front of the table watched by the Council as he thought heavily on his decision.

"Lord Tyrion…how much gold has the Crown seized so far?"

"At latest count this evening….over fourteen _million_ golden dragons." Tyrion said, leaning forward to consult a ledger in front of him.

"Fuck me, that's a lot of gold." Smalljon Umber declared earning a laugh from Oberyn Martell and a snort from Davos Seaworth.

"I don't like my Throne being in threat or my country being in debt. We will pay off the debt. All of it." Robb declared after a few minutes of silent contemplation. He turned to Tyrion Lannister who nodded.

"Organize it with Nestoris. Jon will assist. Good will, as you say, will be important. Keep them happy, Lord Tyrion. And also ensure that the remaining seized gold, silver and jewels are stored in the Royal Treasury _at_ _once_." Robb ordered, before approaching the table to pick up a scroll sealed with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

"Moving on...this is a matter which we must address at once; Storm's End and the Lordship of House Baratheon." Robb held up the scroll, bringing silence to his Council once more.

* * *

Author's Note: Review, review! :)


	4. Chapter 4 - Night Falls

"Currently held by Renly Baratheon's own chosen Castellan. Renly had no heirs, and Robert no true sons. Shireen Baratheon is to be kept as a ward of the Crown, I wish to keep an eye on the girl. Stannis kept her hidden away for years. She is a good girl, a _sad_ girl and untrained in matters of ruling and hidden from the public for many years. The Stormlands need to be held by a strong lord who will command the respect of his vassals. It will need to be a son of Robert Baratheon." Robb declared, unrolling the scroll that would decree which Lord he named to the seat of Storm's End and placing it upon the Small Council table.

"Does it _need_ to be?" Oberyn Martell had crossed his legs and was now angled in his chair in such a way that his arm draped and hooked over the back of the chair, allowing him to observe and clean his fingernails as he spoke, before glancing up to Robb who looked at him curiously.

"Why name it to anyone? Why not enfold the Stormlands into the Crownlands? These men, these Stormlords, they followed you when their Lord Renly died. They would follow you now." Oberyn assured, causing Robb to raise an eyebrow and glance next to Tyrion Lannister, who drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop as he considered Oberyn's words and nodded slowly.

"It _would_ ultimately give the Crown a stronger foothold of its own…the Crownlands are fertile, but they can never raise enough men or supplies to make a difference in a war. You won because you had the might of the North, the Reach, the Riverlands and the Stormlands on your side. By birth and by marriage…the Reach and the North should ideally still support you, should the time ever arise…however if they did not, it would be a much finer thing to be able to call upon forty-seven thousand men, rather than just the ten-to-fifteen thousand that will rise from the Crownlands alone." Tyrion Lannister said, causing Robb to rubb his upper lip as Davos Seaworth spoke next.

"The Stormlords rallied to you as though you were one of their own, Your Grace. I could not see them putting up much of an argument to this proposal…especially as all the Stormlords marched for you till the bitter end of the war, from Storm's End to the Wall and back, they followed you. It would be ideal to act on this goodwill now." Davos tilted his head with a shrug.

"You have unified the Seven Kingdoms through honor and justice, something that has not been seen in three-hundred-years of Targaryen rule, Your Grace. While one would hope that peace will last, Prince Oberyn makes a valid point, perhaps there may come a time that House Baratheon is strong and loyal enough to be given their lands once more, but that day is not now." Varys inclined his head, before looking to Jon who had his lips pursed and his fist clenched on the table in front of him, he flicked his eyes up to look at Robb who waited expectantly for his counsel.

"The Baratheons have held the Stormlands for 300 years. Prince Oberyn has wisdom to his words, but I believe he also had a point in the fact that the Northmen would still rally to you, Robb. They named you King first, and you are to establish a Northern dynasty. They followed you into war, they would do it again without question. To the men of the Reach, the Riverlands and the Stormlands…when they joined your cause, they might have doubted you…but from what I saw at the Wall, you have inspired thousands upon thousands of men to fly your banners. You have become a living legend, Robb, and I doubt that the men who have followed you in the past would not follow you again."

"This is not about King Robb, boy. This is about giving the Iron Throne more lands, more men and more resources for generations to come. It makes little sense to let it go." Oberyn interjected, leaning forward to look to his left where Jon was seating three seats down from him.

"Smalljon?" Robb sighed, folding his arms.

"He's right…but the Baratheons have ruled for three-hundred-years and the Durrandon's longer than that. I met King Robert's bastard son Gendry in Winterfell, he has followed the army here and currently serves as blacksmith in your service. Your sister is actually quite taken with the lad…" Smalljon said causing Robb and Jon to both look sharply at the Umber heir.

"Don't kill the messenger…" Smalljon said raising his hands with a laugh "He's a good lad. Strong. But he has had little training in lordship or knighthood. He's young still. He has hope. You could take him under your wing. Train him, give him Storm's End." Smalljon advised with a nod.

"I think to deny House Baratheon their birthright of Storm's End would be like to deny the Starks of Winterfell. Had we no other option, I know the Northmen would have rallied to Jon. They will rally to a son of Robert Baratheon, and they will love you more for returning a good lord to them." Dacey went next, causing Robb to sigh and nod, before turning his gaze to Margaery who had listened to everything the Council had to say, before she formed her own opinion to give to her King.

"Everyone has a point. I believe that we should focus on finding the right son of Robert Baratheon to name as Lord, and I also believe that the boy should serve as Robb's squire to learn the way of lordship from the King himself, after which the boy can be sent to spend some time at each of the great castles of the Stormlands to learn from his bannermen and to have them learn of him. Soon, we could have a loyal Baratheon holding the Stormlands… _but_ …to _not_ seize additional lands per Prince Oberyn's suggestion is also foolish. The remainder of the Kingswood…the castles of Felwood, Bronzegate and Haystack Hall and their lands, and the lands of their vassals should be enfolded into the Crownlands." Margaery advised wisely, causing Robb to nod and continue pacing.

"That's thousands of acres of land…it would provide us with an additional six to ten thousand men…" Lord Tyrion said, sitting back in his chair, clearly impressed.

"Aye. My Princess has the right of it. Send word to the Lords of the lands we intend to annex. How many candidates do we have for the lordship of Storm's End?"

"King Robert was a…man of lust, Your Grace. He had many bastards by many different women. Of the boys…I know of Edric Storm in Storm's End, of two twins who serve as baker's apprentices in the Street of Flour, a fletcher's apprentice outside of Castle Darry, two toddlers in Duskendale, a babe in Rosby…this Gendry Waters however is King Robert's oldest son, born only two years after you, my King. Sired by Robert in the early days of his rule." Varys explained causing Robb to rub his eyes.

"I will have to meet this Gendry…ascertain if he is worthy. In truth Edric Storm grew up in Storm's End…it would make more sense to name him the new Lord Baratheon…" Robb said, causing the Council to murmur in agreement.

"If I may, Your Grace…I have long corresponded with the boy on behalf of King Robert…this boy is charming and he knows how to speak, thanks to Lord Renly's tutelage, but he is fierce and proud from Robert's blood that flows in him. The ideal choice he may be, the wisest he might not…" Varys cautioned, causing Robb to frown.

"Send him to King's Landing as well. I would meet with them both before I decide the future of a House." Robb declared, earning a nod from Varys who sat back in his chair as Robb stopped pacing to face his Council once more.

"The last thing I wish to discuss before we adjourn tonight is the royal wedding. It will be a time of great celebration for the realm, and I also want to ensure that Margaery, myself and our families are well protected."

"The Gold Cloaks will be on the task, Your Grace." Smalljon assured, pouring himself another mug of Northern ale.

"Brienne of Tarth and I will be on duty as well." Ser Loras assured, though saying Brienne's name pained him greatly.

"Good. What word of the feast…?" the meeting progressed for some time longer, with Robb dismissing the courtiers that the Lannisters had assembled in King's Landing en masse via royal decree that the Council would enforce tomorrow. The arduous task of naming new courtiers took the better part of two hours, with Robb wishing to call many of his loyal Northmen and discussions and debates occurring between the Council on which lords and knights were honorable, good and just enough to earn a place in court.

* * *

"Ruling is going to be quite tiring." Margaery yawned as she walked from the Small Council chambers arm-in-arm with Robb who laughed and pressed his lips into her hair. Jon Stark watched them go with a smile, he nodded to his fellow counselors who left one-by-one, until finally Tyrion Lannister and Jon were alone.

"I didn't think I'd see you again, Lannister." Jon said, walking to shake Tyrion's hand like an old friend, which the new Lion Lord returned in kind.

"Nor I, you, Sno-…Stark. And now Hand of the King too! The badge looks good on you. Not half as good as it looked on me." Tyrion quipped as the men walked out of the chambers and past the Iron Throne together. Ghost, who had been slumbering with Grey-Wind outside the chambers, trotted over to walk beside Jon.

"I told Robb you were a good man. He seemed to believe me. Though I will say, it took a lot of convincing. He was of a mind to raze Casterly Rock as your father did to Castarmere when he learned of the wildfire accident."

"I would not have faulted him. But I am certainly most glad he did not. Half the wealth of the Westerlands for most of us to keep our heads is a fair compromise I think." Tyrion said with a hint of a smirk.

"Robb seemed to think so as well. Though he could never pardon your immediate family. Their role in the war was too great."

"I do not mourn Joffrey, Jon Stark, make no mistake. I grieve for my brother, the only man who has shown me kindness."

"Aye, and perhaps he was a good man to you, but he killed dozens of Northern sons, injured our father, and began a war against Lady Catelyn's House. Robb cannot let that go unpunished."

"No. I suppose not." Tyrion sighed

"Jamie will go to the Wall where he can live out his days and perhaps earn some honor back for himself."

"I admit, I never thought I'd become Lord of Casterly Rock _this_ way…but the King is right…my family, save for Jamie and a few of my now deceased Uncles, have given me nothing but malice…but I still ran after them, hoping for love. Robb Stark has given me faith…I intend to show him that it isn't misplaced." Tyrion promised as the they walked out of the Great Hall out onto the courtyard of the Red Keep.

"Robb will be happy to know it." Jon smiled. It faded slightly when a man dressed in faded leather armor with an old sword strapped to his side moved to join them. Jon could spot a sellsword a mile away.

"Come now, Jon Stark. You were a bastard once, bastards, sellswords and dwarves all travel in the same circles. Bronn, this is Jon Stark, Hand of the King." Tyrion introduced the men who eyed each other out for a moment before inclining their heads to each other.

"Bronn is to serve as Captain of my Guard here in King's Landing. As soon as the King permits me to have guards again…" Tyrion muttered, causing Jon to curl his lips.

"Robb does not want to arm the West for a while yet, Tyrion. Give him time."

"Very well. But what of you, my Lord Hand? You are now the second most powerful man in Westeros…and yet you walk alone in the most dangerous city in Westeros with only a wolf to protect you."

"I can protect myself." Jon said, some of his old bravado still present.

"I know you can, but even still. This city is madness, I saw the High Septon pulled apart limb from limb and we still had a hundred Lannister guards and a thousand Gold Cloaks on duty. You need men. Hand's men." Tyrion advised as they stopped before the Tower of the Hand where Jon would retire for the night.

"I will heed your counsel. Robb has more Stark soldiers coming in from the North soon, perhaps some of them could come to my Household."

"You are the Warden of the North, it is your right." Tyrion said with a smile and a bow before limping away with Bronn by his side. Jon watched him go before exchanging a look with Ghost, who sat down to look up at Jon with glowing red eyes. Eyes of the weirwood.

"Being a bastard was almost easier…" he muttered to his wolf who whined slightly before following Jon up the steps of the Tower of the Hand.

Sparsely furnished, for Jon had only just arrived, his eyes were drawn to one thing first and foremost, and that was his intended, Ygritte, who sat on the Hand's desk skinning a rabbit.

"Where did you get that?" Jon asked with a laugh.

"There's a wood just down the way. Loads of these little buggers. All I had to do was walk out of this bloody great hut-."

"Tower." Jon corrected with a smile as he removed his cloak to throw it onto a chair.

"Aye, tower. Whatever ye' call it, I had to walk out and eight people came up to me 'm'lady, can we help you?', 'm'lady what do you need?'. All I had to do was ask for a horse and where the woods were. I had a good day." Ygritte smiled, as she continued her gruesome work.

"If you were hungry…you could have also asked them to bring you food from the kitchens." Jon chuckled, sitting next to Ygritte on the desk to take the bloody dagger from her hands.

"What? Just like that? Snap of me fingers, and I can have whatever I like?" Ygritte asked with a raised eyebrow as she wiped her hands on a rag.

"Essentially, yes." Jon nodded, causing Ygritte to shake her head.

"I don't know if I can handle all this, Jon Sno-...Jon _Stark_ , dammit. The bowing, and the curtsying, and the 'm'ady'ing everywhere. I know I said I wanted to be with you and here…but…am I not shaming you? I heard what they say about you now, you're the King's Hand…and you're important and powerful now." Ygritte's insecurities about being a Free Woman from the North in King's Landing had plagued her since she arrived in Winterfell, and though she had received some of the finer points of etiquette in the south from her friend Osha in the North, there were still things Ygritte didn't think she understood. Like kitchens and instant food that you didn't have to kill and make yourself.

"Robb is King and he has never been the type to want a court of lies and lace. He himself brought the other girl, Asha-."

"Osha." Ygritte corrected

"Osha, he brought her into Winterfell. Now she serves as Rickon's sworn shield until Robb can name a Kingsguard to him. Robb is… _progressive_. And even if he were not, even if he said to me that I could not be Hand and be with you…I would tell him to get fucked, give him the badge and find somewhere else for the two of us. But I know he won't do that to us." Jon wrapped his arm around Ygritte who sighed.

"I know things are hard for you here…I don't understand half of what is going on in this city either, but these are early days…and Robb is still trying to clean up this city. I'm not asking you to stay indoors all day and sew and knit. Go hunt, go train, go do whatever it is that makes you happy, as long as we are together." Jon took her hand, causing Ygritte to sigh and lean her head on his shoulder.

"I suppose you know _some_ things, Jon Stark." She admitted quietly after a while, causing Jon to laugh.

* * *

Margaery Tyrell and Robb Stark were taking that evening to dine with his mother and his siblings. Catelyn Stark had yet to get to know the girl who would be her daughter-by-law, and knew that for Robb's sake she needed to make an effort.

So there they were gathered in the intimate dining hall, with Margaery and Sansa animatedly having a discussion about the wedding while Arya and Rickon spent most of the meal talking to Robb, whom they had greatly missed through all that was going on. Catelyn Stark couldn't help but smile as she saw Robb's hand find Margaery's, even though the two were involved in completely separate conversations. It pleased her to see her son happy, and though she was disappointed in him for breaking his vows to Walder Frey, she could not deny that Robb's alliance with the Tyrells had brought the Starks justice, and Westeros peace.

So when Margaery Tyrell invited Catelyn and her daughters to lunch with her and her grandmother the next, Catelyn readily accepted, despite knowing the reputation of the Queen of Thorns.

"I'm not sure Arya will want to join that luncheon." Robb grinned, nudging his younger sister who sat beside him.

"I wouldn't mind, actually. Though I certainly shan't be wearing a dress or a gown or whatever it is." Arya said casually, earning a sharp look from her mother and an amused chuckle from Margaery and Robb. Even Sansa smiled. The two sisters, who had once been so at odds, had been on remarkably better terms since being reunited. No longer did they argue and scrap at every moment, they were kind to each other, caring. And Robb swore he saw Arya sneaking into Sansa's chambers their first night here with a sleeping fur and a pillow under her arm.

"Since when do you like to lunch with noble ladies?" Robb asked her curiously.

"Since I realized how hard it is to come by a meal for most people. And also since I'm finally back with my family." Arya, still a rebellious child, had greatly matured in her time separated from her family. There were things she had done that Robb had a feeling he didn't yet know about…and resolved that he would need to spend some much needed alone time with his sister soon.

Arya's words had sobered the table for a moment, until Margaery, ever the gracious lady, smiled at Arya.

"Your company will be most welcome, Arya. I should love to get to know you as well as I have Princess Sansa." Margaery's words caused Arya to offer her a small sincere smile before she returned to her food.

When someone knocked on the door Ser Loras, who was standing guard by it, turned to pull the great dining hall doors open to reveal Lord Varys, who had changed as often as Margaery had. Looking freshly bathed, he bowed to the Stark family as he softly shuffled into the room, hands hidden in his voluminous sleeves.

"Lord Varys." Robb said, sitting back in his chair, his "king's face" having replaced the smile he wore moments beforehand.

"Your Grace, my lord and ladies, forgive the intrusion. I beg audience with you, my King. Should you be done with your meal of course." Varys said with a smile that chilled Robb's spine slightly. Robb glanced from Varys to his mother to Margaery who frowned for a moment, before her own mask replaced it. She nodded encouragingly to Robb, though there was a warning of caution in her eyes that her betrothed recognized.

"Of course. Forgive me, family. I hope not to be too long. Carry on without me." Robb stood, wiping his hands on a pristine napkin before rising to have Ser Loras make to follow he and Varys out the doors.

"No need, Ser Loras. Send two normal soldiers to accompany me, I wish for you to remain with the family." Robb clapped his Kingsguard's plated shoulder, causing Loras to frown before stepping back into his place with a nod.

"Where to, my Lord?" Robb asked of Varys as they made their way down the corridor.

"Somewhere where the walls won't be listening…" Varys said cryptically, his voice lower and more grim than Robb was used to.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: Oh man. So something terrible happened and I lost about 4000 words, thankfully I was able to recover a majority of it. :) So, hope you enjoyed it, cause we almost lost it...and do leave a review!_**


	5. Chapter 5 - Where The Walls Don't Listen

"Should I be concerned, my lords and ladies, as to why you have led me deep beneath the castle, without guards to meet you by shadow and torch? Am I to have my throat slit?" Robb's words were cold, he did not like being ambushed.

Lord Varys had led Robb from the Royal Family's dining chambers in Maegor's Holdfast to passageways and tunnels deep beneath the castle. When Robb had inquired why, Varys had simply repeated his words; _"Somewhere where the walls won't be listening…"_

Torch in hand, Varys led Robb to a cavernous empty tunnel that could have served as a fighting pit or an additional gaol with the cells that were carved into the walls at regular intervals. Robb however did not pay much attention to his surroundings, for his eyes were locked on the six people illuminated by torches who were gathered in the tunnel, waiting. Lady Olenna Tyrell was there, looking more grim than Robb had ever seen her, Prince Oberyn was leaning against a wall to her right, his arms folded as he observed Robb with his usual half-smirk. Varys and three others whom Robb was not overly familiar with rounded off the little group.

"You are the last person that this small group intends to harm, Your Grace." Varys declared, moving to stand beside a stocky, bearded Riverlord who had a red salmon sewed onto his doublet.

"Am I to express my gratitude for that?"

"He is angry. I told you he would be." Oberyn's words were casual, though he looked to Olenna Tyrell and Varys with a sense of triumph in his eyes.

"Someone had better start explaining things quickly." Robb tried to keep his voice level and even, but the growl of anger seeped in regardless.

"What you see before you is a third of a group that has been active since before your birth, Your Grace." Varys spoke first, causing Robb's eyes to flick over to him. "A group that actively worked across the Seven Kingdoms to maintain order and to ensure that Westeros survives, and that a true dynasty returned to rule before Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters could see us all into chaos and destruction. Everything we did…we did for the good of the realm." Varys's words did nothing to explain the situation to Robb, but he patiently listened as best as he could while his hand tightened on the pommel of his sword.

"When Robert Baratheon first took up his hammer against the Targaryens, we worked as royalists, as members of court, as soldiers in Prince Rhaegar's army." A man spoke up, older than most that were gathered there, only a few strands of brown remained in his hair and beard. On his chest was a black plowman working a field, House Darry, Robb knew that much.

"When Rhaegar died, so too did a large portion of our number. Some fled to Robert Baratheon's cause, others chose the Black. We-…we knew that the Mad King was not right for the realm, a few of us had been working to replace him with Rhaegar before the boy himself turned foolish and became obsessed with your aunt." Olenna Tyrell, who had remained quiet until then, finally spoke up. Robb had only a cold gaze for Margaery's grandmother. She had spoken of alliances and truths and yet she kept all this from Robb for months. He did not like that, he did not appreciate that, and it certainly didn't give him any inclination to extend Olenna's stay in King's Landing via invitation as Margaery had asked him to do.

"Rhaegar could not be convinced out of his folly, not even Lyanna Stark saying she did not wish to leave Winterfell swayed him. He convinced her to meet him and they fled, and Westeros paid the price in blood and tears for Prince Rhaegar's follies. When the Royal House fell, and we knew that the Targaryen lives were compromised, we tried to organize the smuggling of Princess Elia and her children to Dorne. We managed to get Viserys and Daenerys out of Dragonstone of course…But the Mad King refused to let Elia out of his sight, and when the opportunity finally came, it was too late…the Lannisters had sacked the city." Varys's words were sad as he shook his head slightly.

"And my sister was raped after watching her children murdered before Gregor Clegane smashed her head in with the blood and brains of her own children still on his hands." Oberyn's eyes shone with angry tears as he stepped forward to address Robb, his teeth gritted before Olenna Tyrell placed a hand on his chest and sent Oberyn pacing back behind the group to run his hands through his hair restlessly.

"After that…those of us that remained when Robert Baratheon was crowned met in secret. Robert was a temporary salve to the festering wound the Mad King had opened, but we knew that he would only make things worse soon enough." The Darry man said.

"There were six of us, called the Red Council, who actively worked with the might of ten Houses behind us; Martell, Tyrell, Darry, Mooton, Osgrey, Grandison, Fell, Yronwood, Oakheart and the Conningtons of the time." Olenna explained, causing Robb to raise his eyebrows. How had this been going on in the realm for nineteen years without anyone finding out? Without _his father_ finding out?

"Jon Connington was one of the six on the Red Council, and he knew he was about to lose his lands and titles, so he and the other five of us resolved to alter our original plan to save Rhaegar's son. The boy we had bought from Pisswater Bend, whom we had intended to leave behind for the Lannisters was used instead as a false dragon…we sent him with Jon Connington and told the boy he was Aegon Targaryen and he was destined to rule Westeros. Nobody had to know the truth outside the Council…" Varys explained, glancing to the others who remained stoic.

"Not until you came along." Oberyn Martell stated, his smirk returning to him.

"Me?" Robb finally spoke, though his features were still contorted into anger.

"You." Olenna Tyrell confirmed "All we ever wanted for the Kingdoms was a _good_ king. A just ruler. And we thought…foolishly, that we could craft one that we could place on the Iron Throne." Olenna sighed, holding her cane in front of her as she shook her head woefully.

"The boy we call Aegon Targaryen has grown up expecting the Iron Throne to come to him, and Jon Connington has spent two decades telling that to the boy, I think he belives it himself now." Varys speculated, causing some murmuring of agreement from the others "At any rate. The Council played two games, one with the faux-Prince, and the other with Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. Viserys grew up to be as mad as his father, his death was a blessing…but it also meant that Daenerys was now the wife to a raging Dothraki warlord."

"Not ideal." Olenna clicked her tongue.

"Until _he_ died. We are unclear as to the circumstances…but following a great funeral pyre, Daenerys emerged with three dragons." Varys said after his licking his lips to continue.

"How did she get three dragons, _Red Council_?" Robb asked, his tone clearly mocking. Varys sighed, before pressing on.

"A gift from an international ally. Three eggs given to her to prove she is a Targaryen…we had no idea that she would be able to hatch them. We thought they had turned to stone. At any rate, she traversed the Red Waste, and we had thought that she was taken hostage in Qarth…but in truth she has claimed three ships our ally from Pentos sent to her, and is now apparently in Astapor."

"What is she doing there?" Robb asked, rubbing his eyes with his index finger and thumb before raising his head to look at Varys.

"My little birds say she is being courted by the Masters of Astapor to purchase an army of Unsullied. Slave soldiers." Varys explained, causing Robb to sigh greatly.

"So you people work to restore a woman with three dangerous beasts and an army of slave soldiers to the Iron Throne, along with a commoner who has been led to believe he has claim to a crown that could never be his by all the laws of Gods and Men? Have you brought me here to bring me into your plans?"

"Gods, boy. Calm down."

"You will watch your tone when you address me from now on, Lady Olenna." Robb said sharply, causing Olenna Tyrell to look taken aback.

"No. You must let me finish…those of us here were the only ones among the original organization loyal to the Targaryens who became very uneasy with these developments. We looked to Westeros, where you were gaining men, gaining a following, gaining victory after victory. We decided to learn more about you…being Ned Stark's son was not enough for us at the time." Varys went on, taking a step closer to Robb.

"You are a just man, you are an honorable man, but you knew how to play the game when it called for it. You have ruled for three days in King's Landing and already things are better than they have been for the last forty-odd years. We…proposed to the Council to begin supporting your reign. We saw that you are what is good for the realm, you and Margaery Tyrell by your side. There was great dissent, and some lives were lost…but what is important for you to know is that there are now three factions of a very dark and powerful organization that has ruled Westeros behind the scenes for the last eighteen years. _We,_ are yours. We have chosen you over the Targaryens, and we command the most strength. You have House Tyrell of course, House Martell, House Darry, House Mooton and House Osgrey." Oberyn Martell spoke again from the wall he was leaning against. He nodded to the three men whose names Robb did not yet know.

"And the other two factions?"

"Jon Connington leads the forces loyal to the Pisswater Prince. We have lost information on them, we last heard they were on a ship near Tyrosh. House Grandison intends to pledge their loyalty to him."

"My brother has also commissioned a ship to go find him…" the Darry man said uncomfortably.

"And you and your brother are who exactly?" Robb asked before clenching his jaw.

"Apologies, Your Grace. I am Ser Rolan, and my brother is Ser Rollam. We are uncles to Ser Raymun, Lord of Darry."

"And where do Ser Raymun's loyalties lie in all this?" Robb asked, causing Rolan Darry to flush as though that was the last question he wanted to answer.

"He-…he supports Daenerys Targaryen."

"Oh, brilliant. So House Darry has a foot in each camp then? Sly." Robb said, turning away from Rolan as Oberyn snorted.

"And who else supports Daenerys Targaryen?"

"House Fell...House Yronwood, House Oakheart and she also has Jorah Mormont serving her as her closest advisor." Varys answered Robb's question quickly.

"A man my father condemned to death."

"A complicated story behind that, my King." the Spider sighed.

"More complicated than what you all have just told me? Explain to me now why I shouldn't have these other factions destroyed?"

"Because you have no proof of their treason. To act without proof or provocation will lose you much of that hero worship you have won through your campaigns." Olenna sighed, causing Robb to simmer down slightly as he clenched his jaw once more.

"Does Margaery know of any of this?" Robb demaned from Olenna who shook her head and snorted "You think I would risk my granddaughter's life by including her in this mess? No. Margaery knows nothing of this council."

"Good. Consider yourselves _Council_ no longer. Varys and Prince Oberyn will retain their positions…but both of you should know I am _very_ angry. The rest of you…you may remain in my court…but one toe out of line and I will act swiftly."

"Well, that's more generous than what we were expecting." Oberyn admitted with a slight laugh

"If all you have told me tonight is true, then it seems I need you all. I want this truth of the Pisswater Prince to begin spreading through the Seven Kingdoms, the smallfolk love a good story and the high lords will at least know of this version of the truth if and when this false son of Rhaegar Targaryen lands on my shores." Robb ordered of Varys immediately who bowed and nodded.

"Wise, Your Grace."

"And Daenerys?" Olenna asked with a raise of her eyebrow.

"My plans remain unchanged. I will sail across the Narrow Sea with twenty-thousand men to treat with her."

"Why?" Oberyn asked curiously, causing Robb to take a breath before answering fiercely.

"Because I will not be the second Stark king to kneel to a Targaryen."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Heyooo, so I spent the last 24ish-hours planning what troubles will befall Robb and his reign, because this is the Game of Thrones after all. So this is just one of the six major plots I have planned to affect Robb Stark's rule. Leave a review please! :)**_


	6. Chapter 6 - Loyalties

Robb's head spun from lies, treachery and barely contained anger at what had been revealed to him. He had found Grey-Wind anxiously waiting for him in the courtyard of the Red Keep, where the great direwolf gave Varys a growl of warning before going to circle around Robb protectively.

"There is more we must discuss, Your Grace. Dissent grows like a weed, and though you have claimed the loyalty and love of the smallfolk and many of the high lords…you have angered equally as many through your campaign. Not the least of whom are the followers of Petyr Baelish."

"I have no more patience for this today! Whatever more treachery is brewing against me and mine, it can wait until the morrow. At daybreak, you will present yourself in my solar for a conversation that you will not enjoy." Robb snapped, causing Varys to look taken aback for a moment. Robb took a deep breath to regain his composure.

"I do not like being lied to, nor do I appreciate the fact that a group of my citizen think they are powerful enough to act against the Crown, whether I was sitting on the Iron Throne or not, I will not accept this behavior any longer. You say you are loyal to me, Lord Varys? You say you think I am good for the realm. Prove to me your loyalty. You have kept many secrets from me, and I know you have more still, I would know them." Robb declared, earning a small sly smile from the Master of Whisperers who inclined his head.

"My King…you may just survive King's Landing yet…" Varys bowed once before shuffling away silently as Robb and Grey-Wind made their way to Maegor's Holdfast. The Young Wolf felt a weary rage within him, it felt as though since he called the banners, he had not stopped fighting against injustice, misrule and corruption. He supposed that was his new burden after all…he had taken the Iron Throne, and to leave things as they were was irresponsible, it went against everything his father had taught him. Where Robb had once believed the Northmen were his to protect and care for…now he had the entirety of Westeros to think about.

The burden was great…and there was only one person he wished to talk to, one person whom he knew he could not keep any of this nonsense from.

"Margaery…" Robb sighed, knocking on her chambers doors, only to have his betrothed greet him moments later, a dressing robe clad loosely around her as she smiled at her King. It faltered when she saw Robb's grim features, and without a word pulled him and Grey-Wind inside.

"I cannot believe my grandmother is capable of such a thing…" Margaery breathed with a shake of her head, after Robb had explained everything to her. They sat on the edge of Margaery's bed facing one another, as Grey-Wind had climbed up to take over the entire right side of the grand four-poster bed.

"And Varys says there is yet more I do not know. How can I do this, Margaery? In the North our governance is of simple honor, there is no spying and whispering, no backstabbing, no treachery…" Robb sighed, causing Margaery to place a comforting hand on his cheek.

"I love you, Robb. But that is one the most naïve things I've ever heard you say. My love, there is spying and treachery and backstabbing and plotting all over the world. You just had to put down the Boltons! The Ryswells and the Dustins surely still harbor resentment against you, they had blood ties to the Boltons and they lost men during the ambush." Margaery's words caused Robb to flush at first with embarassment and then next with anger.

"Lady Barbrey would do well to remember-."

"Its not about remembering, Robb. You can't rule with honor and strength alone. You've taken on a role that will mean playing the dirty game until you can clean things up. You have the power now…but you can also just as easily lose it." Margaery counseled taking her betrothed's hands in her own.

"I don't know what to do, Margaery. Gather my own spies? Play one lord against another?"

"Yes." Margaery said with a simple nod, causing Robb to groan and press his fingers into his eyes.

"I don't know how to do that!" Margaery smiled at his outburst and squeezed his hands.

"That's why you have me." She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly.

"There's no-one I want more on the Iron Throne than you Robb Stark. And over half of Westeros feels the same way. You're a good man, and you will be a great king."

"With a great queen." Robb said with a small smile, causing Margaery to chuckle.

"Naturally."

* * *

Robb had risen at dawn to join his knights and men-at-arms in the training yards of the Red Keep. Smalljon Umber, Commander of the City Watch, had joined him for a spar, the two Northmen wore loose tunics as they held live steel in their hands to duel each other. Smalljon, a larger man than Robb, roared as he brought a two-handed greatsword down to smash on Robb's strong block. The King parried the Umber heir's weapon away before knocking his friend off-balance.

"You great lug." Robb panted, placing the point of his sword in the dirt as he wiped his forehead with the back of forearm.

"I was going easy on you…" Smalljon muttered, accepting the King's hand to get back on his feet before brushing the dirt off his breeches.

"Of course." Robb laughed

"Anyway, as I was saying…bloody idiotic of you to venture alone with Varys without so much as Grey-Wind to follow you. And I thought you were smart." Smalljon reprimanded his friend sternly as they took position across from one another once again.

"Yes, I know. I recognize that now. Which is why the sooner I name more trusted members to my Kingsguard the better. How goes your cleanup of the City Watch?" Robb asked, before charging forward to skillfully attack Smalljon with his longsword, only to have the Greatjon's eldest son deftly block each blow with his greatsword.

"Tedious. After the first day, most of 'em caught on to what I was doing and now they're all playing innocent. But I've got enough people coming forward telling me stories of the worst ones. Got quite a few wanting to take the black actually." Smalljon said over the clashing sounds of metal on metal as he sparred with his best friend and King.

"Good. The Night's Watch needs all the men they can get. I'm told Stannis Baratheon has set sail from Storm's End for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Once he's there, I'll feel a whole lot better." Robb grunted, being forced to take a kneel as a massive blow from Smalljon's sword came from overheard.

Robb gritted his teeth before forcing himself upward and shoving Smalljon's sword aside to send the flat of his blade into his friend's side.

"Ah! Son of a whore, that stings!" Smalljon yelped, clutching his side for a moment as they paused.

"Less than if I'd actually slashed you in half, mate." Robb grinned, causing Smalljon to roll his eyes.

"And what about the Kingslayer? When will you send him North?" Smalljon asked as they both retired to return their swords to the temporary master-at-arms.

"Today. I will announce it in court. I'll be sending a full escort with him, the last thing we need is Jamie Lannister on the loose." Robb said, causing Smalljon to laugh.

"I'm just telling you now, I'll be damned if I start wearing one of those gold cloaks. They're heavy, they catch too much light, and in a fight I'd practically strangle myself." Smalljon declared to his King as they both shrugged on their doublets and picked up their customary weapons from the sword rack. Robb's crown was being held on a velvet pillow by Leo Tyrell, his Steward, who came forward to present the crown to Robb almost reverently.

"Thank you, Leo. Please send word to Lord Varys, I wish to meet at once." Robb said, replacing the Winter Crown back atop his head before turning to Smalljon "Change them then. I think they look bloody ridiculous, and the amount of gold accessories they wear must cost a fortune. Have it all melted down and sent to the mint…and find a new uniform for them to wear. Grey Cloaks maybe." Robb suggested, walking away from Smalljon Umber who looked interested by the idea, before turning his head to look at one of the banners of House Stark flying from the walls of the castle. The grey wolf on a white field caught Smalljon's attention for a few moments as he repeated King Robb's words to himself.

"Grey Cloaks…"

* * *

The Wolf King was in his solar, a hand on one of the massive pillars that served as archways leading out to a lavish pavilion that overlooked King's Landing. Robb took a breath, tapping his fingers on the stone of the pillar as he waited for Varys to arrive.

As Margaery had commissioned many builders to come to the capital to assist in the rebuild efforts, there were many standing idle waiting for the Volantene and Pentoshi masters to arrive. Robb had commissioned a number of them to begin renovations on his personal chambers in Maegor's Holdfast. The intricate metalworks of a lion and a stag, the banners of Joffrey Baratheon, they were all soon to be replaced by direwolves and Northern and Reach décor. He could not wait.

When Varys finally joined him in his chambers, Grey-Wind sat vigilant beside the King's desk staring at Varys unflinchingly with his vivid yellow eyes. Robb himself sat behind the desk staring at Varys much the same, except his gaze was of a vivid blue.

"I trust you can understand why I was so short-tempered after what happened last night, but even so, I apologize. A good King should have better control of his emotions. I endeavour to do that." Robb explained, causing Varys to nod in appreciation.

"I am sure you will succeed, Your Grace."

"Mm. I called you here today because there is much going on in this world that I don't yet know. All that you do. What were you going to tell me last night?" Varys smiled at Robb's question before shuffling slightly in his seat.

"Littlefinger and I used to play the game against each other. I'd make a move, he'd counter and vice-versa. Neither of us expected you to rise to power, a good reminder to me that the game is unpredictable."

"This is not a game, Lord Varys. Millions of people now depend on me for peace and prosperity." Robb said sternly, causing Varys to titter.

"A reason why you are a player and not a piece, my King. Littlefinger…I do not mince my words when I say that he was one of the most dangerous men in Westeros. Had you not beheaded him in Winterfell, I would have said that he would have been the biggest threat to your reign." Varys said, his words momentarily somber.

"But justice prevailed, and the Mockingbird lost his head. They may call me the Spider, but it was truly Petyr Baelish who spun webs of deceit and disaster. You might have cut off his head, Your Grace, but those who followed him, those in his employ are now left hungry. His brothels had erupted into murderous bloody chaos until your Lord Tarly temporarily brought peace, the men in his employ as Master of Coin scrambled to hide what earnings they could…but rest assured I am working with Lord Tyrion to remove these men from office."

"Good. I shall make the appointments myself." Robb declared earning an approving nod from Varys.

"Wise, Your Grace. But there is worse news yet, I am afraid…I am told that your aunt, the Lady Lysa Arryn, a woman who was already on the edge of sanity…has become hysterical upon learning of Littlefinger's death." This news caused Robb some surprise. Why would Aunt Lysa care for Littlefinger so? The man had slandered her as well as his own mother by claiming to have taken her maidenhead.

"Why?" Robb asked out of genuine confusion, causing Varys to raise his eyebrows.

"You mean to say you do not know?" Varys asked, tilting his head.

"Does this look like an expression of a man who understands? Speak, my lord." Robb's words caused Varys to smile briefly before continuing.

"My King…this is a delicate issue…one I had thought your lady mother would know of. Lady Lysa…she-…hm…she has-…she once bore Lord Baelish a bastard in their youth. Your grandfather, the Lord Hoster Tully had become enraged upon finding out and exiled Littlefinger whilst simultaneously forcing Lady Lysa to drink tansy tea. It is said that she was never the same after that, half her wits being lost with her unborn bastard." Varys explained, somewhat reluctantly as he struggled to find the words to begin.

"It was through her machincations that Littlefinger was granted positions and offices that allowed him to rise through the ranks to the Small Council. They were ever close…and I still harbor suspicions that it was Littlefinger and the Lady Lysa to poison Lord Jon Arryn. The fever burned right through him…unnaturally so." Varys explained his theory, causing Robb to shake his head.

"And you never went to King Robert? To my father?"

"Would they have believed me? Even so, what could they have done? There is no evidence of my theory, just as there is no evidence that Robert Arryn is Littlefinger's bastard son." Varys said causing Robb to look up swiftly.

" _What?_ "

"My King…Jon Arryn's line is one of the strongest in Westeros. As with Cersei and Jamie Lannister, I saw the signs…the Arryns have traditionally been sandy-blonde, tall, strapping and blue-eyed. His cousins were the same, his brother was the same. Now, true enough, just as you favor your mother's Tully brood, the same could be said for Sweetrobin. But where the Tullys are auburn haired and blue-eyed…Robert Arryn is small, weedy, with brown hair and eyes of grey-green. Remind you of anyone?" Varys asked tilting his head as Robb sat back in his ornate carved high-backed chair to shake his head in amazement.

"The Lord of the Eyrie, a bastard. This is madness…he is the last Arryn left. Well he _was_ …"

"Not so, Your Grace. There is one other, a great-nephew to Lord Jon Arryn, the grandson of his sister. Harrold Hardyng. A valiant young knight fostered to House Waynwood and Robert Arryn's acklowdged heir." Varys explained causing Robb to snort.

"I have heard of Harry the Heir. A lustful knight with two bastards."

"All great lords have their vices, Your Grace." Varys said with a small shrug "His blood is true, the Arryn line ends with him."

"And what do you propose I do? March on the Eyrie? It is impossible. To replace Robert Arryn without proof would earn me the ire of the Lords of the Vale." Robb said with great frustration to push his chair away from the desk to rise and pace restlessly

"The Royces of Runestone, the Belmores, the Redforts and the Egens are loyal to you. And from what I have heard from birds in the Vale, so too are the Waynwoods, the Hunters and the Templetons. But the Graftons, the Royces of the Gates of the Moon, the Lynderlys and the Corbrays were deeply close to Baelish, they owe much of their current wealth to his work."

"But the Corbrays have declared for me…" Robb said in confusion, turning to look at Varys.

"Your Grace…it is a ruse. They simply are trying to gain favor with you." Varys explained delicately, causing Robb to feel like he was a child learning how to hold a sword again. He didn't like this feeling.

"What does Lysa intend to do? Declare open rebellion against her nephew?" Robb asked incredulously causing Varys to shrug and look away slightly.

"What? What do you know that you're not telling me?"

"She is receiving counsel to declare Robert Arryn King of Mountain and Vale…just as your Northmen did for you." Robb took a deep breath as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Very well then. I will send men to the east today, and in a week I shall announce that if Lady Lysa does not respond with the Vale's fealty, we are to begin an immediate embargo on the Vale. Loyal Vale Lords who wish to retain their positions should be swift to declare their loyalty to me and join my royal force in cutting the Eyrie off. If Lysa complies however…"

"Then you are left playing a waiting game until she plays her hand." Varys said, causing Robb to sigh.

"I need men in her court. Loyal men."

"You are beginning to understand, Your Grace." Varys said approvingly.

"What news of the North?" Robb asked, dismissing Varys's praise.

"Donal Noye holds the Night's Watch firmly, thanks in large to the men who stayed behind from your army to take the black. The Night's Watch grows stronger by the day as prisoners continue to arrive. More and more of the castles are being fortified. Trade routes by wagon and ship have been established to the wildlings."

"Good. And what word of my brother, Bran?" Robb asked, causing Varys to tilt his head curiously.

"None, which has caused great murmurings of concern in the North…and even here in court. The Heir to the Throne, the Lord of Winterfell is missing, and yet you seem unfazed."

"Because he is not missing. He is completing a mission of great import on my orders. As soon as word of Bran reaches you, you will tell me at once."

"Of course, Your Grace. Edric Storm will soon be on his way to the capital."

"Storm's End can wait. What else do you have to tell me? Of Daenerys Targaryen most of all?"

* * *

As Robb and Varys held one of the most important discussions in his early reign, his mother and sisters were making their way through the Queen's Gardens to where the Tyrell party were gathered for their luncheon.

Princess-Consort Margaery Tyrell had been involved in a heated argument with her grandmother, the Lady Olenna, just moments before Catelyn Stark and her daughters rounded the corner with a small troop of Stark guards around them. Arya, true to her word, had forgone a traditional dress and was instead in breeches, much to her mother's woe. Sansa Stark looked radiant, happiness slowly returning to the tormented girl from being surrounded by her family and by the Northmen. Catelyn Stark herself was apprehensive as she smiled graciously in greeting to Margaery, who rose from her seat to greet the Stark women with warm hugs.

"My lady, it such a joy to have you and the Princesses join us today." Margaery said, holding Catelyn's arms without a hint of the anger she had a few minutes earlier.

"Thank you, my lady." Catelyn said rather stiffly with her best attempt at a smile. Sansa and Arya stood by her side, feeling equally out of place until Margaery ushered them inside.

"Arya, do you know Brienne of Tarth, Robb's latest choice for the Kingsguard?" Margaery asked, knowing the answer to her question full well as she led Robb's youngest sister to the white-cloaked Brienne who stood on guard close to Margaery.

"Of course I do. She guarded Mother and I to Winterfell." Arya said, before realizing Margaery's kindness.

"I mean…yes, I do. Thank you, Margaery." Arya said, with her best attempt at courtesy before turning to Brienne with a smile. The wolf girl had come to idolize the warrior Brienne, who had similarly taken a shine to Arya. Margaery beamed as the two began to chat together, before she turned to Sansa and Catelyn.

"My ladies, may I introduce my grandmother, the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell." Margaery said, her kind voice hiding her anger at her grandmother in that moment. Catelyn and Sansa inclined their heads to Olenna Tyrell who smiled at them thornily.

"Do sit, my royal ladies of Stark. I do so thank you for joining me and my foolish flock of hens." Olenna said, causing Margaery to take a deep breath through her nose as she stared at the ground for a moment. This action was fortunately missed by the Stark ladies, who moved to settle themselves across from Olenna.

Arya, however, _did_ notice. She looked from Margaery to her grandmother curiously before glancing up at Brienne who shook her head once as she closed her eyes. Arya scowled, not accepting Brienne's silence for an answer. She moved to sit beside Sansa to listen in to the conversation.

"We were just speaking on the position of Grand Maester, Lady Stark. I am sure you have some input." Olenna said, causing Margaery to look sharply at her grandmother before turning to Catelyn with her smile firmly in place.

"I-…do not have any input to share. The Citadel traditionally chooses the Grand Maester, and Robb himself wishes for our Maester Luwin to sit by his side…" Catelyn said, looking between Olenna and Margaery.

"Come, my dear. Surely you have some idea. Boys grow into men, but they should still heed their mother's counsel. If I'd beaten my son Mace a little more, perhaps he'd more readily listen." Olenna said with a slight chuckle, causing Arya and Catelyn to frown.

"My son is the King, Lady Olenna. I am bound, just as we all are, to respect his wishes and abide by them." Catelyn said, a note of coldness to her voice that showed the Tyrell women she was truly a Stark.

"I see." Olenna said with a raise of her eyebrow as she brought a goblet to her lips. Margaery herself was practically beaming at Catelyn, causing some confusion in the mother of the King.

"Why do you care so much?" Arya asked bluntly, causing Olenna to look at her in surprise.

"Arya!" Catelyn admonished, though Arya paid her mother no heed for the moment.

"Robb is the King, and so far he's done nothing but good. Why do you care who is Grand Maester and who he listens to? As long as Robb carries on the way he's been carrying on, Westeros will be a great place." Arya stated, causing Olenna to rarely go silent. Catelyn vainly fought a proud smile as Sansa and Margaery grinned at Arya.

"I see the wolves stick together." Olenna commented, glancing at Margaery, whom Olenna could see was quickly moving out of her influence and becoming a woman of her own.

 _"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives."_ Margaery said, remembering words that Robb had once uttered to her. This earned her stunned looks from her grandmother and the Stark women alike. Olenna saw it now, Margaery was a flower no longer, her granddaughter was becoming a She-Wolf.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Please do leave a review, guys. I'm a starving writer... xD**_


	7. Chapter 7 - Before the Dawn

In the next two weeks that passed, Robb issued massive reforms that saw the political shape of Westeros begin to drastically change. Houses who had attended court to Joffrey and Robert Baratheon were dismissed from King's Landing en masse, removed from offices and titles they had corruptly acquired and replaced by Lords and Ladies loyal to Robb and to Margaery. Almost every Northern House had sent sons and daughters to attend a court they could finally stomach, a court of a Stark. By the time House Tyrell arrived for the royal wedding with their retainers, the royal court was comprised of mostly names that had fought for Robb since the early beginnings of the war.

Umbers, Manderlys, Rowans, Hightowers, Forresters, Karstarks, Vances, Glovers, Darrys, Estermonts, Carons, Martells, Tallharts, Redwynes, Brackens, Daynes, Pipers, Flints and the Royces of Runestone were just some amongst the many of noble names that Robb had called from across the Seven Kingdoms. He had chosen courtiers based on his past interactions with them, based on their loyalty during the war, based on their reputations of honor and conduct.

Robb Stark filled his court with learned men and women, wise lords, noble ladies, great knights and souls from across Westeros alike. He created a court of honor and chivalry never seen in King's Landing since the days of Aegon the Fifth.

The night before the wedding House Tyrell and the Royal House Stark of King's Landing were dining with their closest companions and vassals in the Small Hall of the Tower of the Hand, a magnificent hall that housed 200 comfortably. Robb and Margaery sat at the high table, with Jon and the rest of the family to his right and Margaery's family to her left. Ser Loras Tyrell and Brienne of Tarth stood guard before the high table, along with the two latest members of their elite sworn brotherhood; Ser Robar Royce, second son of Lord Bronze Yohn of Runestone and Ser Ethan Forrester, third son of Lord Gregor the Good of Ironrath. While the rest of the tables were filled with merry Northmen and Reachmen celebrating their coming union together. Robb himself was doing his best to be engaged with his future family, rather than just being focused on Margaery, who looked absolutely stunning that evening.

The sounds of bards and their harps were mixed with the raucous yelling of the reveling guests, Robb had to raise his voice to speak across Margaery to her father.

"I hope you and your sons, brothers and nephews will do my House the great honor of breaking our fast together before the ceremony. According to the new High Septon, it is tradition." Robb called, causing Mace to bluster proudly.

"Of course, Your Grace. My House would gratefully accept such an invitation his highness-." Mace was cut off by Willas Tyrell who leaned over to speak, having listened to the conversation from beside his father

"What happened to the old High Septon?" Willas called to Robb and Margaery who exchanged a bemused look.

"When Robb commissioned a force of Grey Cloaks to take control and establish order in the brothels along the Street of Silk, the old High Septon was found patroning one of the establishments. The Most Devout elected a new Septon at Robb's behest almost immediately." Margaery explained to her elder brother who nodded, before leaning across his father once more.

"Grey Cloaks?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The new name for the City Watch. We did away with the unnecesarry uniforms, now the men wear grey ringmail with half-helms and grey cloaks bearing Robb's sigil." Margaery explained with a smile, gesturing to the new banners that adorned the Small Hall. Robb's new standard was a fierce crowned direwolf's head in grey on a field that two-thirds white and a third pale green. While Bran and the Starks of Winterfell would retain the historic direwolf running across a plain white field, Robb knew he would need his own banners. The crown around the direwolf's neck represented the royal standing of the House, and the pale green running along the bottom was a tribute to Margaery's Tyrell blood, for together they would found the new House that would fly these banners for a thousand years to come.

The night progressed happily, with a somewhat drunken Garlan Tyrell coming to kneel behind Margaery and Robb's chairs with his head bowed.

"It would be – _hic-_ my great honor…to serve you," he kissed Margaery's cheek "And you," he threw an arm around Robb affectionately "As your Master-at-Arms. I promise that our children will learn the arts of war together." Garlan grinned, causing Robb to laugh and Margaery to shake her head and press her forehead into her palm.

"Garlan…back to Leonette, now. Go on. There's a good Garlan." Margaery coaxed of her elder brother who beamed before rising to return to his wife, who looked somewhat horrified at her husband's actions and mouthed apologies across the table to Margaery and Robb who waved them away good-naturedly.

After that however, something most interesting happened, as a young man, lean and muscled, with brown hair and a full moustache kneeled before the high table with an escort of two Stark guards in front of him. Robb, for a moment, did not recognize the man until he saw the sigil six white shells on the man's doublet. Ser Raynald Westerling, Heir to the Crag.

Raynald had yielded the Crag to Robb's forces before the Northmen had even arrived, pledging House Westerling to the Northern cause in defiance of his mother and uncles. In exchange, Raynald's father was treated with honor in the Northern stockades, where he had been languishing since the Battle of Whispering Wood. Raynald had fought at the Wall and even at the Iron Islands, where he had earned the respect of the Northmen around him and the attention of King Robb.

"Ser Raynald, your attendance tonight is welcome." Robb said courteously to the Western knight who smiled and bowed.

"I thank you, Your Grace. Though I admit that is not why I have come before you today." Raynald said, rising from his kneel and earning the attention of the high table and some of the guests near the front of the hall.

"No? Pray tell, Ser Raynald." Robb said, leaning forward as Margaery eyed the knight curiously.

"Your Grace, when the War of the Five Kings descended upon the Westerlands, I was the first of the Western Lords to yield and declare for you. I sent my House's men and resources to your cause, and I even fought beside you on the shores of Pyke and Blacktyde." Raynald said, as the high table listened intently.

"Through my experience…I gained true loyalty for you, as my King. I have come before you today to ask one thing, most humbly of His Grace."

"And what is that, Ser Raynald?" Robb asked, tilting his head to listen closely.

"A place in your Kingsguard. I wish to foresake my birthright as Heir to the Crag, and I wish to serve as one of your loyal seven. My sword and my life are yours, if you will have them Your Grace." Raynald declared, earning a silence from the high table. Margaery and Robb exchanged a look, before Robb curled his lips in thought.

"Ser Raynald, of all the Westernmen I know, you have been the truest to the Northern cause. But yet, I am forced to ask…why would you foresake lordship, a wife and children to serve me?" Robb leaned forward on the table to clasp his hands, the eyes of the Tyrells and the Starks flicked from the King to the knight standing before them who remained silent for a few long minutes.

"Because I believe in you." Raynald finally said, his voice fierce with sincerity. Robb nodded, clearly impressed.

"You will serve as my guard, Ser Raynald, so that I and my Kingsguard can evaluate you for service. When we have deemed you worthy of the White Cloak, I shall name you to the noble order." Robb said, causing the knight to nod and smile.

"I shall not fail you." Raynald Westerling promised, placing his fist over his heart to bow before Robb once more.

The Young Wolf raised his goblet to exchange a look with Margaery who smiled at him encouragingly, before Robb took a deep drink of water. He could not afford to be entirely out of his wits that evening, nor bedridden for what the morning would bring.

* * *

Outside the castle and beyond the walls of the Red Keep, a haphazard band of thirty in mismatched armor and carrying fallen weapons marched through the city towards the castle. They all followed two men, one clad in a red robe and the other in a dull brown.

"Ye' sure we should be doin' this?" came a nervous question from one of their followers behind them, earning nothing but silence.

"Thoros, c'mon! Surely even you see this is madness! To stride in to the King's Court the night before his wedding, he'll have us hanged!" the man pressed, hurrying forward to stand between the red-robed man he called Thoros and the brown-robed man who remained silent.

"You can leave if you want, once our business is done I don't think we'll have much use for you anyway." The red-robed man said, his voice alive with humor as he turned his head to let his red hood fall off and reveal his face. Thoros of Myr, once a companion to Lord Beric Dondarrion, the Lightning Lord.

"Sod this." The follower spat, turning on his heel to march away from the group towards the Street of Silk.

"He'll be missed." Thoros grinned, looking to his companion who remained stoically silent.

"Not a talker are you." Thoros sighed, pulling a flask from his side to uncork it and take a deep swig of wine. His companion turned his head to have the moonlight bounce of his full white beard.

"Do not be drunk when we address the King."

"I'm better drunk, trust me." Thoros said with a grimace as he finished his wine. The party approached the gates of the castle that were guarded by men in grey-ringmail, half-helms and cloaks.

"Halt! The castle is closed to the public today. For any matters of grievance return the day after tomorrow." The Commander of the Grey Cloaks called, stepping forward to place his hand on his sword.

"I believe that the King will want to see me now." The white-bearded stranger said, causing the Grey Cloaks to look curiously at the man.

"And why is that, ser?" the man looked up to pull his hood back, his identity caused the Commander to go wide-eyed and step aside.

"Let this man through." The Commander said, his voice hoarse with awe.

"Commander-…?" one of his subordinates asked in confusion.

"Silence. This man, and this man alone." The Commander said, causing the rag-tag group of men behind them to groan and complain loudly as they dispersed to the streets of the city.

"I will need this red-clad drunk to follow me." The white-bearded man sighed, nodding his head to Thoros of Myr who simply grinned at the Grey Cloaks.

"I will also need an escort to see the King." The white-bearded man declared, prompting the Commander to nod at once.

"I will take you, Ser." The Commander said, turning on his heel to walk into the courtyard before yelling over his shoulder "Talbot, you have command of the gate. Let no-one through."

The minstrels had begun a spirited tune that caused many to dance in the middle of the Small Hall. Robb and Margaery had just breathlessly returned to rest at the high table from the floor, when the doors to the Small Hall opened. None in attendance truly paid attention, until the three men clad in grey, red and brown respectively waded their way through the crowd towards the high table. Robb had been grinning at something Margaery said when he saw his betrothed's eyes narrow in confusion at something behind him. Robb turned to see the Grey Cloak commander bowing before the high table.

"Your Grace, my Prince and Princesses, my lords and ladies, I beg your forgiveness for interrupting you tonight. I know that I was given orders to hold the gate, but I thought that…given the circumstances, you would wish to meet this man at once." The Grey Cloak rose to step aside and let Ser Barristan Selmy step forward to stand before King Robb Stark, who rose slowly from his seat in shock at the legend before him.

"Ser Barristan…my Gods…" Robb breathed, his actions having gained the attention of the Small Hall at large, who silenced to see the proceedings before them.

"Your Grace, it is my honor to have your audience. You do not know me, but I was Kingsguard since before you were born. I served when your lord father, the honorable Lord Eddard Stark was Hand of the King, and I shamefully admit, I served when he was wrongfully imprisoned for treason." Barristan said, earning some gasps and whispers from the crowd. Robb's features hardened momentarily as he nodded for the knight to continue

"When your father needed me most, I clung to my vows to a false King. When he needed my justice, I was told to go into hiding, for the Lannister men I killed in my escape from the city would surely have put a price on my head. When I emerged…I was told that you had taken King's Landing. I resolved then to do what I should have done years ago; I resolved to serve a true king." Barristan declared, stepping closer to the table to hold Robb's gaze.

"I have been searching for you ever since, my King, to ask your forgiveness…" Barristan said with a sad bow of his head.

"I should have protected your father as he was Protector of the Realm, a good man, an honorable man…and my _friend_. Instead I failed him…and you." Barristan sighed, before taking a kneel before Robb.

"Allow me to join your Kingsguard, and I will _not_ fail you again." Barristan promised, raising his head to look up at Robb who looked completely at a loss for words. He parted his lips to look from Ser Barristan, to Jon, to Margaery.

"Your Grace, I would happily resign my commission as Lord Commander for Ser Barristan. The man has experience that no man…or woman…in the Kingsguard holds. I would gladly serve under a man of such experience." Loras said suddenly, filling the lull that had followed Barristan Selmy's speech. Loras's words drew calls from the crowd in support of Barristan the Bold, the greatest living knight in the Seven Kingdoms. Robb took a deep breath, drowning out the noise around him to look into the kind, grandfatherly face of Ser Barristan Selmy. Though there were laugh lines on his face, they were also edged with a wordly experience that he had only seen on his great-uncle Brynden the Blackfish. Stood before Robb was a man who managed to kill half-a-dozen corrupt Gold Cloaks with only a dagger. Robb's father had always spoken highly of the man, and the Young Wolf could not fault a Kingsguard for remaining loyal to his vows.

"I would gladly welcome you to my Kingsguard as Lord Commander, Ser Barristan the Bold." Robb smiled, causing Ser Barristan to bow his head in relief as his eyes began to well slightly as the Small Hall cheered behind him.

"Thank you, Your Grace…I will _never_ fail you." Barristan promised before rising from his kneel to give Robb a smile of sincere warmth.

"I know you won't, Ser. I am sure you still have armor in the White Sword Tower, go don and it and return to assume your post here before me." Robb said with a nod of encouragement, before settling back into his seat with a smile.

"A very wise move, my love." Margaery said quietly to Robb, leaning over to hold his hand. Robb smiled at her in return before bringing the back of her hand to his lips.

"What more do you think will happen tonight?" Robb asked with a sigh, causing Margaery to laugh.

* * *

From the view of the birds overhead, King's Landing was a sprawling mass of flickering golden spots of light. Windows, torches, candles and fires illuminated the great capital city of Westeros as midnight approached. The Grey Cloaks who stood guard vigilantly around the city watched as their breath rose before them in mist. Robb Stark, the Wolf King, stood on his pavilion looking out at King's Landing in semi-wonder.

Tomorrow he would be a married man. While the thought of being with Margaery did not frighten him, the concern of whether he would be a good husband did. Would he be affectionate enough? Or would he do it too much? Would he be too withdrawn, or too open? Would he drive her into the arms of another man, as many Kings had done to their Queens?

He took a shaky breath in the cool night air. It was only then that Robb realized how cold it was in King's Landing. He looked overheard to see a clear night's sky, but felt a strong wind from the North. The cold winds.

"Winter is coming." Robb muttered to himself wryly, before returning to his solar to sit on his large four poster bed, the Royal Bed that he and Margaery had once already christened in passion. Since Loras had interrupted them, Margaery and Robb had decided to abstain until their wedding night, something that had proved difficult for both of them.

They had been apart for months, and had only spent one night together as man and woman, the memory of which had only grown sweeter in their young hormonal minds. When Margaery had left Robb's side that evening, she had promised him that the court would not see them for at least a day. Robb had merely flushed and nodded stupidly.

* * *

In Margaery's chambers down the hallway to the right, the Princess-Consort was similarly awake in her bed, thinking of what was to come tomorrow. Margaery rolled over in her bed with a sigh, she and Robb had spent four or five nights together simply sleeping in each other's embrace, for they had both agreed it would be better to wait until they were wed to unleash these noises that Loras claimed they made. In those night, she had gotten used to Robb's warm arms around her, or her arms around his broad chest, and the feeling of security she had whenever she fell asleep with him. She knew that her new life…her _future_ was only one sleep away, but the anxiety and butterflies coursing through her stomach made it feel like the dawn would never come.

Margaery thought of the first time she saw Robb, and how she thought that the young Stark heir was… _delicious_. But she had known that she could never touch him, she was a Queen then.

Then they had spent a night together talking. Simply talking, and Margaery thought she started to feel things for him then. She thought of the time they spent together dancing around Renly and Loras and the rules of nobility, until finally she had realized how she could have everything she wanted. Robb and the Crown.

She'd always thought she wanted the Crown more than anything, that ruling as Queen and shaping Westeros for the better was all that mattered. That was until she fell for the Young Wolf, who fell as equally in love with her.

She thought about how Robb respected her more than she had seen a lord respect his lady, she thought of how wise he was, of how good and just. And she thought, as sleep finally came to her, of how much she looked forward to ruling by his side as Margaery Stark, Queen of Westeros.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: Wedding bells are coming :D_**

 ** _Please,_** please **_do review!_**


	8. Chapter 8 - The Gold Wedding

A freezing night dawned into a cool, clear day. From the moment the sun rose over the eastern hills of the Crownlands, King's Landing was alive with fanfare and excitement. Horses, litters, wheelhouses and guardsmen on foot soon began to flow in through all the gates of the city. Noble families, respected merchant lords, foreign dignitaries, and high-ranking members of the Faith and the Citadel. Sigils from across the Seven Kingdoms packed the streets.

The Royal Army of King Robb Stark, organized by Lady Dacey Mormont, were put to task to assist the Grey Cloaks maintain order and peace within the city. Banners of a fierce crowned grey direwolf's head on a field of white and pale green flew proudly throughout King's Landing. The Tyrell banners; a golden rose on a green field, were less prevalent amongst the crowds, but Robb had ensured that equal respect was given to the Tyrells during the wedding.

That morning, in one of the grand gardens overlooking the sea and the cliffs of the city, House Stark broke their fast with the men of House Tyrell and over a hundred of their companions and allies. Robb, Catelyn, Rickon, Sansa, Jon and Arya shared the high table with Lord Mace and his three sons; Willas, Garlan and Loras. Ser Loras, a knight of the Kingsguard, had been granted leave that morning to sit with his brothers and father for the traditional breakfast. Robb himself sat in the center, freshly bathed with his regal beard having been perfectly sculpted to accentuate his strong jawline, he wore a finely stitched silver silk and grey velvet doublet over a white tunic, abandoning his traditional boiled leather jerkin for the momentous occasion. His Winter Crown was ever upon his head. He looked like a King from the songs, but still maintained the air of the seasoned warrior that he was.

At the behest of Margaery, the wedding guests broke their fast on a hearty meal of honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, lemon cakes with cream (much to Princess Sansa's delight), crispy bacon, eggs of their choosing, wedges of cheese, bowls of apples, blood oranges, plums and strawberries from Highgarden, freshly baked breads with butter and honey and fruit preserves, along with flagons of iced milk, Arbor Gold wine, Northern black beer, Northern ale, water and juice. Robb had at first stared at all the food in bewilderment, it all seemed too much, but his mother counseled him that Margaery had done her best to include dishes that were both of the Reach and of the North. He loved his bride ever-more for that.

Robb knew that the day would be long, and the next time he would get to eat was at the wedding feast after the ceremony in the late afternoon, and so despite the somersaulting his stomach was doing he ate a bit of everything and laughed along with his family and his family-to-be alike.

* * *

Simultaneously the women of House Tyrell dined in the Queen's Ballroom, with Margaery sitting in the royal seat she would soon hold till the end of her days. The Rose of Highgarden truly looked stunning on the day of her wedding, for as her grandmother had wisely said:

" _The Margaery Tyrell who walks down the aisle will inspire a thousand songs for years to come."_

Margaery's dress was of exquisite embroided Myrish lace and ivory silk that only served to compliment her beauty. Her skirts were decorated with floral patterns picked out in seed pearls. Her hair, as was becoming more usual, was beautifully curled to drape around her exposed shoulders and down her back in a true Northern fashion. Margaery wore no crown per Robb's request, though she had not been informed why, she agreed when her King had given her a look of pleading that she could not deny.

Her mother, grandmother, aunts and cousins all sat with her behind the ornately carved royal high table of the Queen's Ballroom, breaking their fast on the same food that the King's Party were enjoying.

"Rather plain choices, aren't these dear?" Olenna asked Margaery, who by now was growing more weary of her mentor's constant nitpicking. The Princess-Consort simply gave her grandmother the dazzling smile that she possessed before answering.

"To be extravagant in times of harvest would be foolish, grandmother. These are Northern dishes along with our own, and after the day is over I intend to have all the leftover distributed to the poorest in the city and those who lost their homes in the fire, all in the name of the Royal House Stark."

"I still believe we needed more of a display than what is to come. This is a royal wedding, this is the dawn of your rule, my dear."

"And I knew exactly how I wanted _my_ wedding and _my_ reign with _Robb_ to begin." Margaery said pointedly to her grandmother, who smiled slightly before leaning back in her chair to say no more.

* * *

When the food had been cleared away, Robb felt much better after the breakfast, and was not prepared for what was to come next. He had never attended a wedding before, let alone a royal wedding. But thankfully, his mother had spoken at length with Margaery who knew exactly what was to happen.

Lady Catelyn rose from her place beside her royal son with a smile before she walked around the high table to stand before Robb, beaming with tears welling in her eyes.

"Mother…" Robb began, rising from his seat in an effort to comfort her, but instead received a quiet shake of the head from Catelyn who presented Robb with the wife's cloak that he would drape over Margaery's shoulders.

"This was the cloak that I donned when your father married me in Riverrun. It was in a sorry condition until your bride saw it and restored it to a state worthy of the Royal House of Stark." Catelyn explained, before unfurling a beautiful grey cloak that was embroided with the white and pale green colors and grey direwolf's head sigil of the Starks of King's Landing. Robb was speechless as he accepted the cloak, Catelyn returned to her seat where Robb was waiting to embrace his mother in a tight hug to the cheers of their guests and family.

"Your father would be so…proud…of you…I know I am." Catelyn told her son, cupping her cheek as her eyes shone with unfallen tears. Robb could only give her a small smile before the time for gifts was upon them. It was traditional in the Reach to give presents to the bride and groom on the morning of their wedding; on the morrow they would receive more gifts as a couple when they held court together for the first time, but today's tokens were for their separate persons.

Lord Randyll Tarly presented Robb with a grand hunting bow that had been held by the Tarlys of Horn Hill for almost five generations, 'a token of House Tarly's fealty' Lord Randyll had said. Lord Jason Mallister presented Robb with a case of rare gemstones that had been plundered from a pirate ship off the coast of Seagard, Lord Bryce Caron presented him with a new saddle to join the new destrier that the Carons gifted to His Grace, waiting for him in the royal stables. Oberyn Martell presented Robb with a high-quality Dornish spear.

"A weapon for agile fighters, Your Grace. It would be my honor to train you in its usage." Oberyn said with an incline of his head.

"The honor would be my mine, Prince Oberyn." Robb smiled politely, nodding his head in thanks for the spear, though he still harbored some mistrust to the Red Viper of Dorne.

Lord Varys, honored by the invitation, presented Robb with a map that had earned his confusion for a moment.

"A map of the Red Keep and all its tunnels, my King. The only one of its kind, and the King alone should know his castle." Varys said with a bow of his head. To others, this gift might have seemed insulting, but Robb understood the significance of Varys giving the map to him. Varys was truly ready to serve Robb, and that realization meant the world to the Young Wolf who extended his hand to shake Varys's own.

"Thank you." Robb said, causing Varys to titter and shuffle off.

Tyrion Lannister came next with an enormous, gorgeously illuminated leatherbound book called _Lives of Four Kings_. The book caught the interest of both Oberyn Martell and the older two Tyrell sons who sat up straighter at the sight of the old tome.

"Grand Maester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy and Daeron the Good," Tyrion said with a bow of his head. Robb nodded his head, clearly impressed with the size of the book.

"A book every King should read, Your Grace." Willas Tyrell counseled to his King, who nodded before turning back to express his gratitude to Tyrion Lannister.

"I thank you for this, my lord. A gift I will treasure, I am sure." Robb said with a smile, causing Tyrion to bow happily in return before finding his seat once more.

"You should know, Your Grace, in all of Westeros there were but four copies of that book illuminated in Kaeth's own hand." Garlan informed Robb amicably as he raised his horn of Northern ale to his lips. Robb was now even more reverent of this book, for he was sure that the words within held wisdom for his rule.

"Have this tome taken straight to my chambers and leave it upon my desk for safety." Robb ordered for his Royal Steward, Leo Tyrell (Lord Mace's distant cousin), who obeyed at once.

Next came Lord Mace Tyrell to present his gift to Robb: a golden chalice three feet tall, with ornate curved handles and seven faces flittering with gemstones. "Seven faces for Your Grace's Seven Kingdoms." Mace explained proudly, he showed the high table how each face the bore the sigil of one of the great houses: pear direwolf, emerald rose, opal sun, blue jade falcon, silver trout, onyx stag and ruby lion.

"A beautiful chalice, my lord of Tyrell. I thank you for it." Robb said with a grateful smile, lifting the chalice for the guests to see.

"May you and my daughter Margaery drink deep and live long." Mace said with a deep bow.

* * *

Margaery was beaming in delight at the gift her mother Alerie Tyrell had just presented her: the beautiful green and gold velvet maiden's cloak of House Tyrell that Garlan had used to cloak Leonette, Mace had used to cloak Alerie and even their grandfather Lord Luthor had used to cloak the Lady Olenna. Margaery admired the beautifully embroided rose, when she noticed that her table had fallen silent. Standing before Margaery was Ser Barristan Selmy, Robb's new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"My Princess, I have come from King Robb who wished for you to receive his gift last before we are to venture to the Sept." Barristan declared, earning a rush of whispers around the Ballroom.

"My dear King is most sweet, though this is highly irregular for the groom to bestow a gift unto his bride." Margaery said, knowing full well that she also had a surprise gift for Robb that intended to unveil on the morrow.

"The King has recognized this, my lady, but said he cared not, and knew you would not either. A gift from King Robb Stark, First of His Name to his consort Margaery of the House Tyrell, a crown for her to wear from this day till the end of her days." Barristan stepped up to the platform of the high table to kneel and open the ornate wooden box he held.

Inside it was a _magnificent_ crown for a Queen. Made of silver and set with blue sapphires, the tiara was intricately forged to have the vines indicative of House Tyrell perfectly merge to form a fierce direwolf's head in the centre. Margaery was speechless as she hovered her hand over the air of the crown, before looking up to Ser Barristan who smiled encouragingly.

Margaery took a breath before taking the crown that Robb had forged for her to place it upon her head, where it perfectly came to rest. Margaery felt an overwhelming barrage of feelings, the most predominant of which was that she lacked a full sense of completion without her Wolf King by her side.

When the bells of the Sept started to toll, Margaery's heart skipped a beat as Ser Barristan rose from his kneel.

"My Princess, it is my honor to escort you to the Sept of Baelor." Barristan declared with a bow of his head.

* * *

Seven-hundred guests had been invited to fill the Great Sept of Baelor to witness this momentous occasion. And despite the sunlight streaming into the stained rainbow glass window, a cold front had brought a much needed chill to the traditionally warm city of King's Landing.

The greatest of great lords filled the main floor, while the smaller nobles, knights and other guests filled the galleries around the Sept to look on. Robb's family had been the first to take their place at the front of the hall on the right side, along with his Small Council and closest Northern Lords. The Tyrells stood to the left. The Kingsguard stood stationed around the Sept, along with over thirty Grey Cloaks to assist them. Robb made his way down a grand red carpet, lined with petals of golden roses and blue winter roses from the North, that led him to the grand steps between the towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother. The new High Septon stood between them, waiting for Robb patiently with a kind smile on his face. The Young Wolf saw that the sept was beautifully decorated, that huge versions of his royal banners and House Tyrell's banners adorned the walls.

He would have noticed more if his heart was not threatening to beat out of his chest. Robb had stopped to shake hands with this lord or that lord, until finally he found himself on a platform just below the steps leading up to the Septon and just above the steps where Margaery would part from her father to meet with Robb. The King himself was taking a long, shaky breath to steady his nerves, receiving an encouraging nod from the High Septon, who startled to attention when the bells began to ring once more and all those in the Great Sept turned to face the doors that had just opened.

Margaery Tyrell was a vision in white as she walked down across the main hall, arm-in-arm with her father, towards Robb. A huge beam having taken her as she had eyes for only him. Robb didn't even realize he was returning her smile, until he stepped down to meet Lord Mace and his bride.

Margaery and her father had a brief tender moment, where he kissed her cheek and removed the cloak of House Tyrell from around her shoulders, signifying that he had released his daughter from his protection. Robb gave his good father a happy nod, before taking Margaery's hand to lead her up to the first step beneath the High Septon. The young couple were both clearly happy to see each other, but were both also distracted by what lay ahead of them.

"You may now cloak Lady Margaery and bring her under your protection." The High Septon declared, bringing a hush to the already quiet hall as Margaery gracefully turned to pull her hair aside while Robb removed the cloak of House Stark from around his shoulders to lovingly place it around hers. He affectionately held her arms for a moment, before they both turned to face the High Septon once more.

"My Lords, my Ladies, we stand here in the sight of Gods and Men to witness the union of man and wife." The High Septon was a man who could instill the feeling of romance and love into his words, the way he spoke of marriage and of the journey Margaery and Robb were about to embark on had the attendees captivated.

The same could not be said for the bride and groom.

Robb couldn't stop himself from exchanging glances with Margaery while the High Septon rambled on, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to interlock his fingers with hers, and nor could he stop himself from being too distracted by Margaery's doe-eyed gaze to hear when the High Septon addressed him.

"Your Grace?" The High Septon said to Robb for a second time, causing him to look swiftly ahead once more. Margaery laughed at her beloved's distraction, before forcing herself to be serious once more when the Septon turned to look at her.

"Yes? Apologies." Robb said with a chuckle and a cough bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth, soliciting a laugh from the attendees who found amusement in the display before them. Robb nodded for the Septon to continue, leading the man to pull out a ribbon that was a motley for grey, white, green and gold. Robb smiled, raising his hand which was interlocked with Margaery's for the Septon to begin tying the ribbon around their hands.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one," The High Septon finished and cupped their hands with his own "For eternity." he smiled, before releasing their hands to take a step back. He held his arms out to them both, gesturing with his hands as he spoke for them to come together.

"Look upon one another…and say the words." The High Septon smiled widely, as Robb and Margaery turned to face each other. Robb's heart stopped as he looked at her, took in every detail of the face he would adore for the rest of his life. He memorized how her eyes glimmered, how her hair shined in the light, how the Sept was bathed in a serene natural glow, and that his family had been by his side. One of the greatest days in Robb Stark's life, a day he would never forget. Margaery herself was amazed with the man who stood before her, staring at her with such love and devotion in his eyes that he caused her breath to hitch slightly in her throat. She shared Robb's joy for this day as held his blue-eyed gaze confidently.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine…from this day until the end of my days." Robb said at the same time as Margaery, pouring every ounce of himself, every shred of who he was into his wedding vow to Margaery. She was his…and he would love her, honor her, and respect her…this amazing Rose of his, till the end of his days. Margaery herself swore the same to Robb, joyous that she was about to begin a new life, a new age with the man she was in love with, a man she knew was going to lead the Seven Kingdoms wonderfully.

"Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell, and Robb of the Royal House Stark are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." The High Septon declared as he untied the ribbon from around their hands.

"You may now kiss your bride." Robb glanced to the Septon before looking back to Margaery with a smile.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." Robb said quietly. The kiss they shared before the Seven Kingdoms was sweet and innocent, bringing a rousing applause from their wedding guests as they made their way, hand in hand, towards the doors of the Great Sept. Margaery herself felt a longing to escape the pomp and circumstance and be alone with Robb for just a moment, when she heard the Septon's words that caused a shiver of excited satisfaction to course through her.

"My lords and ladies, I present you King Robb and Queen Margaery of House Stark! Long may they reign!"

" _Long may they reign!_ " the guests in the Great Sept chorused back as Robb and Margaery opened the doors to stand on the great steps outside the Sept.

The moment the King and his new Queen stepped into view, the hordes of King's Landing citizens who had pressed themselves onto the roads, alleys and rooftops to catch a glance of them erupted into thunderous cheers of approval. Direwolf banners of all form waved through the streets as Robb and Margaery raised their clasped hands into the air.

After standing for an age on the pavilion before the great statue of Baelor the Blessed to receive the congratulations of honored guests, there was a grand show among the smallfolk as Robb and Margaery walked the short distance from the Great Sept to a grand carriage that would take them back to the Red Keep. The procession was led by Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Loras Tyrell in their scaled armor and cloaks as white as the snow Beyond-the-Wall. Then came the King and Queen upon their carriage, waving to the smallfolk who cheered for them as they grasped each other's hands tightly.

"I love you." Robb said to her, causing Margaery to smile and turn to him. Without a care for who saw, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms cupped her husband's cheek and lovingly kissed him.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: Yayyyy, married! Be sure to leave a review, this is the one chapter I worked the hardest on so far. I wanted to get everything from the clothing to the food just right._**

 ** _Please review!_**


	9. Chapter 9 - The Feast & Bedding

_**Author's Note: Hey guys, so obviously the bedding is going to happen in this chapter. It gets pretty smutty towards the end, so that's why the rating has changed for the story. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER: The end of the story has explicit sexual detail, and if you are uncomfortable with that, I encourage you to stop reading after Robb and Margaery have dismissed Grey-Wind.**_

* * *

A hundred silk tents of grey, white and pale green had been erected on one of the grand plots of land in the shadow of the Red Keep. By now the guests had performed the necessary courtesies, the royal couple had made their customary rounds around as many of the tables as they could and finally they and their families sat on a raised dais before the seven-hundred-odd guests that had been invited to join the wedding feast. The direwolves of House Stark, contained during the wedding ceremony, were now lounging before the high table protectively; Grey-Wind, Shaggydog and Ghost were symbols of the Stark ferocity and Robb wished to have them on display, though he knew his sisters desired their direwolves back, he hoped Bran would return soon enough with a way that Arya could perhaps be reunited with Nymeria, and Sansa…well Robb could never find a direwolf as noble as Lady, but he would do his best to find a noble direwolf to serve as his sister's next companion. It had been a long day, and the only food any of the guests had had would have been the breakfast at the beginning of the day, and most were starving when they sat down for the delicious three-course meal that Margaery had planned.

 _"Three courses? Isn't that a bit much?"_ King Robb Stark had remembered asking of his then-consort who shrugged and replied with:

 _"At least its not seventy-seven courses with a hundred bards and a ghastly troupe of performers or something."_

Robb had laughed and agreed, after all the leftover food was to go to the poorest in the city, something which hadn't been done since the days of Aegon the Fifth.

Robb and Margaery were seated on grand thrones in the centre of the high table looking on to the guests. The Starks sat to Robb's left, along with the rest of his Small Council. The Tyrells in their large number sat to Margaery's right, attended to by their various handmaidens, squires and cupbearers. With an encouraging nod for his Queen, King Robb Stark stood from his chair to address the guests and attendees.

"I once said when I took the Iron Throne that the Age of the Wolf begins in earnest. Those words are even truer today, because of the woman I have by my side." Robb said, turning to smile at Margaery who beamed up at him from her seat "Your new Queen will not sit idle, at my behest she will rule by my side. And it is to her now that I defer to. My Queen." Robb said, gesturing to the crowd with a humble bow to Margaery who rose to take Robb's hand in her own.

"Those of us here are so fortunate to have followed my King through his campaign. He might have risen up as a young lordling, but his cause was just and his heart was pure, as it still is today." Margaery squeezed Robb's hand, before continuing "He fought to bring peace to Westeros, and his work is far from over. Your loyalty to our House on this day and the days to come will not be forgotten, my lords and ladies, so on behalf of my royal husband, King Robb of the House Stark, First of His Name, let the cups be filled!" Margaery called, sending the servers forward at once. It was traditionally the King who gave this order at a royal wedding, but as always the Royal House of Stark was doing away with outdated traditions. Robb and Margaery's cupbearer poured a whole flagon of bubbling Arbor Gold into the golden chalice that Lord Mace had gifted to King Robb earlier that day.

"To a new age!" Margaery and Robb toasted, lifting the chalice together into the air. The guests raised their goblets and shouted their toasts in response, some repeated Robb and Margaery, others yelled out their names in reverence.

The wedding feast began in earnest, with a traditional Reach onion soup with a salad of greenbeans, cherry tomatoes, onions and beets on the side served as a small but delicious appetizer. Robb paid little attention to his plate as he and Margaery resumed their seats, instead he kept hold of her hand to lean in and whisper.

"Did you like my gift?" he asked, doing his best to maintain a straight face.

"What gift?" Margaery played coy, her golden brown eyes alight with mischief as she smirked slight at her beloved.

"Oh it must have gotten lost, Ser Barristan probably kept it. Might look better on him actually…" Robb mused, before glancing over in time to see Margaery playfully shove his arm.

"You are terrible, and I loved it. Thank you. It's…truly perfect, when did you even get the time…?" Margaery trailed off, raising her hand to adjust the beautiful crown that Robb had gifted her that morning.

"I had it forged by the finest smith in the city, after I…dreamt of it…" Robb muttered, glancing up to see Margaery quietly nod her understanding. She knew of Robb's visions given to him by Jojen Reed, and she simply gave her husband a smile and squeeze of the hand before they turned to their food.

Margaery and Robb knew that entertainment would be necessary for the night, but also had no wish to make a spectacle. Talented musicians of the Seven Kingdoms were called in to play, a few jesters were commissioned, but that remained the extent of their plans. First came before them an old grey-bearded man called Hamish the Harper, who had a voice as smooth as velvet as he crooned to the high table a song that he had crafted specifically for the wedding; _The Wolf's Rose._ A beautiful song of Robb and Margaery that had the new Queen enthralled.

Around the wedding the musicians played songs of Robb's victories in war such as _King Robb's Ride_ and _Wolf in the Night,_ they played songs of Margaery's generous heart and hand, they sang _A Man of Honor_ , a sad song about Ned Stark that brought Lady Catelyn and her children to tears.

Robb and Margaery of course led the dance before the second course, as was tradition, and with their arms around each other, the new King and Queen truly seemed like characters from a song brought to life as they gracefully navigated their way across the dance floor. Soon more and more began to join them, Lord Brynden the Blackfish and his wife Lady Tyta, his uncle Ser Edmure Tully and his wife Lady Roslin, Ser Garlan Tyrell and his wife Lady Leonette among many others.

Robb had his arms around Margaery's waist when he spotted a sight that disconcerted him. His sister Arya, looking most unlike Arya in a beautiful dress of silver silk, as she danced with a tall, muscled youth with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. Robb would have known him without the black and gold velvet doublet he was wearing; Gendry Waters, a contender for the Lordship of Storm's End. Robb sighed, causing Margaery to glance over to where Gendry and Arya were forcing themselves to dance, just so they could hold each other.

"Oh Robb, shush. Its adorable. They both hate all of this so much, but they'll do it just to be near each other. Its sweet." Margaery said to her husband, laying her head on his shoulder and causing him to sigh again.

"She's still a girl." He muttered stubbornly, causing Margaery to roll her eyes.

"She's nearly sixteen, Robb. Remember what you were doing at sixteen?" she teased, causing her King to flush furiously.

"Never should have told you that…" Robb said to Margaery, causing her to laugh happily.

* * *

Princess Sansa Stark had risen from her seat to find Lord Willas almost as soon as the dancing had begun. The young auburn-haired beauty of the North had become quickly taken with the young, handsome heir to Highgarden when Robb had sent her to stay in the grand castle for safekeeping. Though Olenna Tyrell had proposed the match, no-one, especially not Sansa and Willas, expected there to be chemistry between them. Willas was twenty-five after all, and Sansa was still seventeen.

Sansa had expected to be met with someone like the Imp when she was told that Willas Tyrell was a cripple, but when she had arrived in Highgarden, she had met a handsome, distinguished young man with dark brown hair and a dark brown beard, close-cropped to his face. Willas _did_ lean heavily on his cane, but when he stood, he stood as tall as any knight and commanded more authority in his presence than his father Lord Mace Tyrell could ever hope to do. Willas had been kind to Sansa, he had spent much time with her speaking about her torment by Joffrey and Cersei Lannister. Sansa had been afraid, she had wept, she had sobbed, and Willas had been there to counsel her. He promised her that she alone would be able to get through her pain, he knew that she was strong, he reminded her of her heritage, and that only endeared young Sansa to Willas even further.

"Princess Sansa," Willas smiled happily, trying to rise, only to have Sansa place a hand atop his.

"Do not rise, my lord. If it please you, may I sit?" Sansa asked, ever the soul of courtesy. Willas merely tilted his head

"Only if it please, you my Princess." Willas smiled, causing Sansa's cheeks to tint pink as she sat in Leonette Tyrell's vacated chair to speak with her intended.

Willas was intelligent, charismatic and compassionate, but even he had been quite enamoured by Princess Sansa's beauty at first, as most men were. However he did not begin to care for Sansa until he learned of the steel behind lady Sansa's porcelain exterior. She was intelligent and charming, and she would make a fine ruling lady in her own right, but she had not the confidence when Willas first met her. As a man who had struggled with his own self-worth due to his lame leg, he had patiently guided her to see her own value, to see that she was more than just a bird in a gilded cage. He did not want to admit it to himself, but he did hope that King Robb agreed to the match when Sansa was of maturity in a few years time.

* * *

By the time pigeon pie rolled around, the sun was slowly beginning to set and torches by the hundreds were lit to illuminate the great wedding feast. Robb and Margaery rose together to wield his longsword and gently cut the pie, unleashing a few doves into the sky to cheers of the crows.

"I didn't kill any did I?" Robb asked worriedly, peeking into the pie to see that he had avoided injuring any of the doves and breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're so sweet." Margaery chuckled, placing an affectionate hand on his cheek for a moment before declaring the great pie to be served as the second course. Robb and Margaery both knew what was approaching, and Margaery was most certainly not looking forward to being manhandled by a bunch of lustful men who wanted to see her naked and hear her fuck Robb. It disgusted her. Robb was of the same mind, but the King and Queen had yet to discuss it thus far, and only grew more nervous as the remains of the pigeon pie were cleared away and the desserts were brought out. Delicious cakes, pies and fresh fruit in jellies were served alongside Lysene soft cakes that were supposedly made of cheese but tasted as sweet as the lemoncakes Princess Sansa so adored.

* * *

While Robb and Margaery silently awaited what was to come. Jon Stark had left the high table to seek Ygritte, whom he found with Arya, Gendry and Osha behind the tent of the high table. The three women and the young man were complaining loudly about the fine garments they were wearing, whilst Ygritte was showing Arya how to handle a bow properly, and Gendry sat on a tree stump tugging at the collar of his doublet.

"Where did you even get that?" Jon asked, causing them all to look up at him guiltily.

"Its…the bow Lord Randyll gave to Robb…" Arya admitted, chewing her lip and wondering if Jon would get angry. The Hand of the King thought about it for a moment, but sighed and moved to join them.

"No-one better to learn from, I suppose." Jon smiled, putting his arm around Ygritte who gave Jon a brief smile in return before stepping away from his arm to continue instructing Arya. Jon furrowed his brow and glanced to Osha who avoided his gaze. The Black Wolf, as he was coming to be known, felt a flush of worry as he glanced at his intended wife who avoided his gaze in turn.

* * *

On the other side of the feast Prince Oberyn of Dorne and his paramour Ellaria Sand were picking fruit from a buffet and enjoying an amicable chat with Lord Tyrion Lannister and Lord Varys.

"Your sister must have heard the bells and the cheering from her new cell, no?" Oberyn asked, trying to contain his amusement as he popped a grape into his mouth. Tyrion, goblet in hand, merely shrugged and took a deep gulp from it.

"My sister," Tyrion burped "is a whore who tried to have me killed. I couldn't care if the bells turned her deaf or caused the roof of the cell she was in to fall on her. Though if that did happen, I would start believing in the Gods again." Tyrion said, earning a chuckle from the others.

"I am told you are to leave the capital soon, Prince Oberyn." Lord Varys said, causing Oberyn to tilt his head up to the Spider who simply smiled.

"Yes. Back to Dorne to assist my brother with the Mountain and-…"

"My father, no need to sugarcoat it." Tyrion said, before taking another drink of wine "Who will hold Council in your place?" Tyrion asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Prince Oberyn grinned that dangerous grin of his before answering.

"My niece and nephew, Quentyn and Arianne will arrive to take positions in court. Quentyn will sit in Council."

"Oh my…and does our King yet know of these plans?" Varys asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

"I'm sure he will soon. Either by your lips or mine." Oberyn smirked, before taking Ellaria's arm in his own to leave the two Lords alone.

"A dangerous man." Varys noted, causing Tyrion to snort and his finish his wine.

"In a sea of dangerous men, my friend. What word troubles you now?"

"Murmurings in the North of brooding Ryswells and Dustins, Donal Noye holds the Night's Watch firmly in hand. And apparently Petyr Baelish's forgotten speck of land on the Fingers has become a holy meeting ground for his followers, chief among them Ser Lyn Corbray." Varys informed Tyrion who sighed to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"And? Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Troubling news from the east, she has apparently claimed eight thousand Unsullied without pay, freed them and sacked Astapor to free the slaves and kill the masters. They're calling her the Braker of Chains now, and she makes a march for Yunkai. Though there is word that dissent already grows amongst her people and that the council she left to rule in Astapor is about to be overthrown."

"This girl doesn't seem to know what she's doing…" Tyrion noted, causing Varys to shrug.

"She has no knowledge of rule and a knight convicted of slavery to advise her, how could she possible reign well? There or anywhere?" Varys said with a sigh and a shake of his head "The dragons in her power worry me still, but the King wishes not to hear of any of this until the morrow."

"Let us give him that at least. He ended the war after all…" Tyrion said, a noted tone of envy in his voice as he turned to look at Robb and Margaery.

"The King would organize you a good marriage if you asked, you know…" Varys said, almost reading Tyrion's mind.

"I won't ask." Tyrion stated simply, walking away from Varys who sighed, turning back to the high table to see that Lord Mace Tyrell was giving a fumbled speech of gilded words. King Robb led the polite applause that followed until finally an awkward sort so tension fell on the feast as the desserts were cleared away.

" _Time for the bedding_!" came a distant call from somewhere in the guest tables, causing Robb and Margaery to look up sharply as the other guests began to shout their agreement and men and women alike rose eagerly to undress their King and Queen and bundle them into their royal bed.

"There will be no bedding ceremony!" Robb declared, leaping to his feet to stand protectively in front of Margaery before anyone could reach them, Robb's words earned sour boos from the crowd.

"You may all rest assured that this marriage will be consummated tonight, but I wish for no bedding ceremony to taint our wedding night. My lords, my ladies. Queen Margaery and I bid you all to stay and enjoy the remaining food and drink, we ourselves will retire for the evening. We thank you all once again for joining us today, and hope that you have had an enjoyable day. Good night, and may the Gods bless you all!" Robb called, earning another toast to their good health, albeit this was a little resentful from some of the lords and ladies who had greatly looked forward to the bedding.

Robb and Margaery left the wedding feast hand-in-hand to be guarded by Grey-Wind, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Ethan Forrester on their short trek to the Royal Chambers in Maegor's Holdfast. Margaery pressed her lips into Robb's shoulder in a silent showing of gratitude for sparing her honor. Robb merely held her tighter in turn until finally the doors were closed behind them and they embraced in a passionate kiss.

Grey-Wind whined, causing Robb and Margaery to pull apart with a laugh.

"Out!" Robb ordered, pulling open the chamber doors once more and sending his huge creature trotting out the door with a touch of annoyance in his growl. Margaery beamed, closing the door for Robb before locking her arms around him to kiss him once again.

They had abstained for months, and one taste of each other all that time ago was not enough for the King and his new Queen as they hastily undressed each other in between fervent kisses. Margaery's expensive and beautiful wedding dress pooled to the ground around her ankles before she pushed Robb towards the bed as he pulled his loose tunic off to drop it to the ground.

They both tossed their respective crowns onto the bedside table where they landed carelessly atop one another. Margaery's tiara was half draped over Robb's war-like Winter Crown. Margaery's new corset was ripped off her body by her new husband, leaving the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in nothing but her garter. Robb finally took this moment to appreciate every inch of Margaery's body.

"Robb…" she exhaled in annoyance as his eyes raked across her beautiful form.

"You didn't let me look at you properly last time. Tonight I want to see you…" Robb said with a smile, causing his wife to roll her eyes as she slightly blushed. Robb finally came down to meet her lips, his hand lovingly caressed her curves as he did so. When Robb's lips moved to Margaery's collarbone, she didn't even realize that she was forcing her husband's head further down, her fingers curled into his dark locks of hair. When Robb's tongue flicked across Margaery's erect pink nipple and her hips bucked upward, Robb knew that Margaery was in no mood to be teased. She practically wrenched his hair out as she pulled him up to kiss her.

"Do you remember-…what we did-…?" she panted, short of breath due to her desire for her Wolf.

"I remember." He grinned, pecking her lips before making his way down Margaery's body to wrap her legs around his shoulders. Margaery began an exhale of apprehension that quickly turned into a startled exclamation of pleasure. Margaery's moans grew wilder as Robb experimented with his tongue and his lips on her womanhood. His hands massaged her thighs and her breasts as he kept his face between his wife's legs to run his tongue between the soft, wet pink folds of Margaery's sex. Robb sat up when his jaw was aching, sitting up to wipe his mouth with the back of his arm and grin at Margaery who looked utterly restless as her chest rose and fell quickly.

"Make love to me." She demanded of her husband when he climbed his way back up to kiss her sweetly. In her deep arousal, Margaery almost sounded angry, but Robb knew better. When he made to guide his throbbing swollen head to her entrance, Margaery stopped him.

"No…let's…let's try something different." She grinned up at him, before pushing him away and commanding him to lie on his back. Margaery smiled at him, brushing her long hair out of her face as she straddled his waist and felt his erection pressing into the small of her back. She bit her bottom lip as she gazed down at husband, running her hands across his chest hair before she rose to grasp Robb with one hand and slowly lower herself onto him. The moment his head slipped inside of her, Margaery and Robb both lost their senses and awareness of how loud they were being. When he was fully sheathed within her, Margaery lowered her torso down to hungrily kiss Robb, moaning slightly as he was inside of her. Robb ran his hands up her back in adoration as they slowly began to pick up a rhythm of moving into one another. Margaery, already stimulated from Robb's tongue experienced her peak first, releasing a loud moan as her toes curled and her body shook. Robb himself followed only seconds after, feeling Margaery orgasm atop him sending him over the edge and his seed deep within his wife.

The night was still young, and when Robb finally felt that he could give no more, he and Margaery were covered in sweat and their respective bodily fluids, sunrise was only a few hours away and the Queen seemed somewhat delirious when Robb collapsed by her side to bring her into a tight embrace. Margaery murmured something, running her hand through his hair as his hands wrapped around her waist from behind her. She fell asleep first, blissful at the new life that she had begun. Robb stayed awake for some time, amazed at the life he had created for himself and the woman he loved.

Unbeknownst to the King and Queen at that time, Jojen Reed's prophecy had come true, an heir had been sired that night.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Prince or Princess? What will it be, what will it be, I wonder :D**_


	10. Chapter 10 - Daenerys Targaryen

Margaery and Robb only rose in the late morning when Ser Barristan politely knocked on their chamber doors.

"My King, My Queen? The luncheon in your honor is to begin soon…" Ser Barristan said, clearly sounding somewhat embarassed after hearing the new King and Queen last night and early that morning. Margaery covered her mouth as she kept from laugh, clutching the furs around her bare chest as Robb blearily sat up.

"Thank you, Ser Barristan. Please have our maids prepare our baths and garments." Robb called back, before rubbing his eyes and turning over to smile at his wife.

"That was wonderful." He smiled, running his hand up her arm, causing Margaery to lazily smile back at him.

"I don't want to get up." She pouted, causing Robb to laugh and lean in to peck her lips.

"Neither do I, this damned tradition of gifts and lunch is quite tedious. I wish I could have spirited you away to Winterfell for two weeks and we could have been left alone. Perhaps create an heir." Robb grinned, his hand caressing Margaery's flat midriff.

"I'm pretty sure we made one last night." Margaery chuckled, unaware that her jest was, in fact, true.

Despite their desire to stay in bed all day, the King and Queen rose to try and cover some of the mess they made the night before. The bed was a lost cause, but they managed to clean Robb's grand desk, pick up the fur they had used off the floor and modestly cover themselves when their maids entered the room with hot water for their baths and fresh sheets for their bed. The maids were Margaery's own from Highgarden, who silently blushed when they saw the mess the King and Queen had made. Margaery merely pressed her face into Robb's shoulder to hide her mortification as the King himself failed to suppress a chuckle.

When Margaery and Robb were finally washed and dressed once more, Robb picked up their crowns from the bedside table where the young couple had tossed them carelessly the night before.

"My Queen." Robb grinned, offering Margaery her tiara as she in turn lowered her head for Robb to place it upon her.

* * *

Down in the yard, Princess Arya Stark had returned to her customary breechers and tunic as she walked across the yard with Gendry Waters, who was dressed in yet another doublet that he found incredibly uncomfortable. From across the yard, Arya and Gendry saw Edric Storm and his supporters laugh merrily at something Edric said as they entered the Great Hall ahead of Arya and Gendry. Shireen Baratheon, daughter of Lord Stannis, was by his side. Shireen had come to the capital at Robb's behest to serve as a ward to the crown, for he felt responsible for the young girl. Rumor had it that Edric was courting his cousin Shireen in an effort to solidify his position as the rightful Lord of Storm's End, for Shireen remained the last true-blooded Baratheon child in Westeros.

"Your brother's going to name him Lord of Storm's End, isn't he?" Gendry asked, his voice dejected. This caused Arya to stop in her tracks and turn to Gendry curiously.

"Why do you even care? Who wants to be the lord of some stupid castle in the Stormlands? Why would you want to go there anyway?" Arya said with a furrowed brow, her intentions unpure as all she truly desired was to keep Gendry close to her. Gendry simultaneously shifted nervously from one foot to the other as he avoided Arya's gaze.

"I'd be a Lord…I'd have my father's name…" Gendry said quietly, looking away from Arya.

"So? What does that even matter?" Arya pressed, causing Gendry to look up at her sharply.

"You wouldn't understand. You've always known who you are and who your father was. I'm a Baratheon, the oldest Baratheon son and I can't even claim the name. I can't even act as a lord, or marry the girl I want because my name is Waters not Baratheon." Gendry's words caused Arya to rarely go silent.

"Which girl?" she finally asked causing Gendry to look up with a sigh.

"That's all you got out of that? Really? If you don't know which girl by now, you're quite stupid." Gendry said walking away from Arya who furrowed her brow in anger once more before chasing after Gendry.

* * *

Simultaneously across the Narrow Sea, past the Free Cities and the huge expanse of land that that Essos called the Dothraki Sea, down into Slaver's Bay, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, daughter of the Mad King Aerys II and sister to Prince Rhaegar was mounted atop a silver mare as she led a host of eight thousand Unsullied warriors north to the Slaver's City of Yunkai. Daenerys Targaryen was a stunning young woman, possessing an otherwordly beauty that only Targaryens were capable of.

Jorah Mormont of Bear Island rode beside Daenerys, staring at her with obvious longing in his eyes as they spoke about their plan for Yunkai.

"Yunkai. The Yellow City." Jorah said to Dany as she reigned in her mare to look across the fields and see the walled city of Yunkai with a strong host of men assembled before it. Dany had no idea how to count how many there were.

"They train bed slaves here, we could defeat them on the field…but they won't meet us on the field. They have provisions, patience, and strong walls. If they're wise, they'll hide behind those walls and chip away at us, man by man." Jorah said with a sigh to Daenerys who furrowed her brow to glare ahead.

"I don't want half my army killed before I've crossed the Narrow Sea to take back my throne." She stated, causing Jorah to sigh and nod.

"We don't need Yunkai, Khaleesi. Taking this city will not bring you any closer to Westeros or the Iron Throne." Daenerys thought on these words as she looked out to the walls of Yunkai and the harpy mounted on the central pyramid. She thought about the slaves she had freed from Astapor, of the love they had for her…and she thought of the weeks she spent suffering at the hands of the warlocks in the House of the Undying. She could not allow such injustice to continue where she could stop it.

"How many slaves are there in Yunkai?" she asked of Jorash Mormont.

"200,000, if not more." Jorah said off the top of his head, glancing over to his queen.

"Then we have 200,000 reasons to take the city." Daenerys said simply to Jorah, before turning her mare around to return to the main host of Unsullied, Dothraki and freed men who marched with her.

"The slavers like to talk," she said. "Send word that I will hear them this evening in my tent."

"As you wish," Ser Jorah said. "But if they do not come-…?"

"They'll come. They will be curious to see the dragons and hear what I might have to say, I'll await them in my pavilion." Daenerys said confidently, urging her horse forward.

A deep ditch that would encircle her camp was half dug, and the woods around it were full of Unsullied lopping branches off birch trees to sharpen into stakes. The eunuchs could not sleep in an unfortified camp, or so their General, Grey Worm, insisted. He was there watching the work, a tall but lean Summer Islander with a head that he kept as clean shaven as his sullen face.

 _"I will receive the Great Masters of Yunkai soon. Have the Unsullied stationed along their path. I want this man to fear me."_ Daenerys commanded of the man who bowed his head loyally to her.

When she had commanded the Unsullied officers to choose a leader from amongst themselves, Grey Worm had been their overwhelming choice for the highest rank of General.

One of the first things Dany had done after the fall of Astapor was abolish the custom of giving the Unsullied slave names that demeaned their very existence. Grey Worm had remained Grey Worm. When she asked him why, he said, _"It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one had the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free."_

Dany had been overwhelmingly touched by that. She kept Grey Worm and Jorah close to her, and released her beloved dragons from their cages to sit with her in the grand pavilion that her Unsullied had erected for her within the camp to receive the Wise Masters.

A second encampment lay close beyond her own; five times the size, sprawling and chaotic, this second camp had no ditches, no tents, no sentries, no horselines. Those who had horses or mules slept beside them, for fear they might be stolen. Goats, sheep, and half-starved dogs wandered freely amongst hordes of women, children, and old men. Dany had left Astapor in the hands of a council of former slaves led by a healer, a scholar, and a priest. Wise men all, she thought, and just. Yet even so, tens of thousands preferred to follow her to Yunkai, rather than remain behind in Astapor. _I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it._ Daenerys thought to herself forlornly.

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a mount of some sort; most carried weapons looted from the Sack of Astapor, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. _I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me._ She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh.

The Targaryen girl might have believed that she had the head and heart to rule a world as harsh and unforgiving as the one she lived in, but the truth was far from that. She had the blood, she had the dragons, and she had the name, but she did not have the temperament to rule, she did not have the understanding of reign yet. A crown was not owed to her, and she failed to understand that, or understand the importance of the hard decisions. A good ruler would have been firm with the freed men long ago, rather than allowing them to accompany her simply because she wanted to keep their love.

The Breaker of Chains they called her now, it thrilled her to have a moniker so powerful, though she did not truly understand the burden that such a name brought. Not yet.

The envoy from Yunkai arrived as the sun was going down; thirty soldiers armed with spears, and ten other slaves. Six of whom carried the litter that the envoy traveled in, with the other four carrying large chests in their arms as they walked.

The man in the litter named himself Razdal mo Eraz. Lean and hard, he had a white smile such as Master Kraznys had worn until Drogon burned off his face. His hair was a shining mop of dark curls, and his tokar was fringed with golden Myrish lace. Unlike Kraznys in Astapor, Razdal was a shrewd and quiet man who was in control of his emotions.

"Ancient and glorious is Yunkai," he said when Dany welcomed him to her tent. "Our walls are strong, our nobles proud and fierce, our common folk without fear. Ours is the blood of ancient Ghis, whose empire was old when Valyria was yet a squalling child. You were wise to sit and speak, _Khaleesi_. You shall find no easy conquest here."

"Good. My Unsullied need practice. I was told to blood them early." She looked to Grey Worm, who nodded as Razdal curled his lips. The girl was bold beyond measure. Daenerys meanwhile withdrew a raw steak of meat from a bowl by her side to toss it casually in her dragons' direction. Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal viciously snapped over it, causing Razdal to recoil in terror as the fierce winds of their wings nearly toppled his chair over. Razdal took a moment to regain his composure before he continued.

"If blood is what you desire, blood shall flow. But why? 'Tis true you have committed savageries in Astapor. But the Yunkai'i are a forgiving and generous people. The wise masters of Yunkai have sent a gift for the silver queen." Razdal clapped his hands and sent the four slaves carrying chests forward to kneel before Daenerys, who raised her silver-blond eyebrow as the slaves opened to chests to reveal shining bars of gold.

"Why squander your strength against our mighty walls when you will need every man to regain your father's throne in far Westeros? Yunkai wishes you only well in that endeavor. And to prove the truth of that is this," Razdal indicated the chests before him "Fifty thousand golden marks," Razdal said smoothly. "Yours, as a gesture of friendship from the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Gold given freely is better than plunder bought with blood, surely? So I say to you, Daenerys Targaryen, take this chest, and go. There is more waiting for you on your ship." Razdal said, sitting futher up in his chair as he saw Daenerys's eyes widen at the gold before her. He could see the young girl's gears working in her brain. Gold was a small price to pay to send this girl and her demons to death in Westeros. She would find no easy conquest in the savage west, Razdal knew that much.

"And what do you ask in return for this generosity?" Dany finally asked, looking up to Razdal, who spread his heads in a gesture of reconciliation.

"All we ask is that you make use of these ships. Sail them back to Westeros where you belong and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace." Razdal's tone was firm as he held her gaze. She in turn looked to the slaves bowing before her, she saw their malnourishment, their scars and their fear…and she knew that she had little choice in the matter.

"I have a gift for you as well," she smiled, causing Razdal to tilt his head at her in confusion "Your life." Dany smiled coldly.

"My life?" Razdal asked, his brow furrowing.

"And the lives of your wise masters. But I also want something in return. You will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman, and child shall be given as much food, clothing, and property as they can carry as payment for their years of servitude. Reject this gift, and I shall show you no mercy." Daenerys smiled, scratching Drogon behind the horns on his head as she gave Razdal a dangerous smile.

"You are _mad_! We are not Astapor or Qarth. We are Yunkai and we have powerful friends! Friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive we shall enslave again, and use to retake Astapor from the rabble. We can make a slave of you as well, do not doubt it. There are pleasure houses in Lys and Tyrosh where men would pay handsomely to bed the last Targaryen."

"It is good to see you know who I am," said Dany mildly.

"I pride myself on my knowledge of the savage senseless west." Razdal spat.

"Perhaps your slaves may care for you, but not in Essos or even Westeros do they remember your name, Daenerys Targaryen. Another war has torn the country apart, and one man took it upon himself to put it back together. If you think you can conquer Westeros with fire and blood once again, Robb Stark's supporters will stop you before you can even land on his shores." Razdal's words were dark as he addressed Daenerys, who did her best to keep her shock at his words hidden, but failed. Razdal laughed cruelly.

"You don't even know, do you? You call yourself the rightful queen, but know nothing of Essos _or_ Westeros. Do not displace our ancient peoples, simply because you have no place in the world, Daenerys Stormborn." Razdal's words caused Jorah Mormont and Grey Worm to step forward as their queen looked particularly stricken by his words.

"No. This man is our guest. Send him on his way." Daenerys said, waving her hand and averting her gaze from Razdal who snapped his fingers to send his slaves forward to collect the gold, only to have the dragons viciously snap at them.

"You have this gold to me as a gift remember? I shall use it wisely." Dany said, rising from he chaise "I suggest you do the same with your gift. Now, get. Out." She ordered of the man, sending him scrambling out of her pavilion. Daenerys waited until the man was gone before turning to Ser Jorah.

"What does he mean…? What war? Who is Robb Stark and what happened to the Usurper?" Daenerys demanded of the Andal Knight who could only helplessly shrug.

"Robb Stark is Ned Stark's eldest son…I…truly don't know how _he_ could have ended up on the Iron Throne. The last I knew, King Robert was alive and well and Ned Stark served as his Hand."

"So the Usurper's own dog probably betrayed him. Why would the country rise to support this Stark boy…?" Daenerys asked, having no idea that Robb was older than she was.

"I don't know, Khaleesi, but I will find out." Jorah promised with a bow. Daenerys nodded, wringing her hands as she paced nervously in her tent.

"He said he had powerful friends…who was he talking about?" Daenerys asked, turning to Jorah who shrugged again.

"I imagine he speaks of the sellswords encamped outside his walls as an army. The Second Sons they call themselves, a company led by a Braavosi named Mero. Calls himself the Titan's Bastard, and for the gold that I imagine the Yunkai'i are paying him, they can be trusted to put up a strong fight." Ser Jorah said, causing Dany to chew the inside of her lip as she paced.

"Is he more titan or bastard?" Daenerys asked in a vain attempt at humor, Jorah merely sighed.

"He's a dangerous man, Khaleesi. They all are."

"How many are there?" she asked, causing Jorah to close his eyes for a moment.

"From what I saw, I imagine they have no less than two-thousand, armored and mounted. Enough to make a strong impact against your Unsullied on foot." Jorah told the young Targaryen who returned to sit on her chaise, deep in thought.

"Ser Jorah. Leave me, bring me news of Westeros as soon as you can…and also arrange a parley between myself and the Titan's Bastard." Daenerys finally said, looking up to Jorah who bowed at once.

"He may not agree to meet…" Jorah said cautiously as he rose to place his hand on his sword hilt.

"He will. Any man who fights for gold can't afford to lose to a girl." Daenerys said with a confident smile.

* * *

The next day Daenerys was seated as Ser Jorah stood at the mouth of her tent to introduce the captains of the Second Sons.

"Your Grace, allow me to present the captains of the Second Sons; Mero of Braavos, Prendahl na Ghezn, and..." Ser Jorah gestured first to a hulking brute of a man with deep-set eyes and a well-trimmed beard, next to a stocky man in plate armor whose skin was a golden brown, his greying hair ran down to his shoulders, but Ser Jorah faltered when trying to name the last man. A much younger man Daario Naharis, flamboyant even for a Tyroshi. His beard was cut into three prongs and dyed blue, the same color as his eyes and the curly hair that fell to his collar. His pointed mustachios were painted gold. His clothes were all shades of yellow; a foam of Myrish lace the color of butter spilled from his collar and cuffs, his doublet was sewn with brass medallions in the shape of dandelions, and ornamental goldwork crawled up his high leather boots to his thighs. Gloves of soft yellow suede were tucked into a belt of gilded rings, and his fingernails were enameled blue.

"You are the Mother of Dragons?" Mero asked, stepping forward to address Dany who merely tilted her head "I swear I fucked you once in a pleasure house in Lys." Mero said, lust clearly in his voice.

"Mind your tongue." Ser Jorah growled from where he had moved to stand by Daenerys's side.

"Why? I didn't mind hers. She licked my ass like she was born to do it." Mero said crudely, giving Daenerys a wink before flicking his tongue repeatedly in her direction as he settled heavily into a chair that had been placed out for him and his companions.

"You, slave girl, bring wine." Mero snapped at Missandei who came forth with a flagon.

"We have no slaves here." Daenerys said to Mero who distractedly leered at Missandei, before turning back to address Daenerys.

"You'll all be slaves after the battle unless I save you." He said cockily, taking a sip of his wine before growing weary of the diplomacy. He leaned forward to leer at Daenerys instead.

"Take your clothes off and come and sit on Mero's lap and I may give you my Second Sons." He grinned, biting his bottom lip as he stared at Daenerys with such crazed, deranged lust in his eyes that Jorah Mormont and Grey Worm both placed their hands on their weapons. Daenerys however handled the man with the class of a Targaryen queen.

"Give me your Second Sons and I may not have you gelded. Ser Jorah, how many men fight for the Second Sons?" Dany asked Jorah Mormont who glared at Mero as he answered.

"Under 2,000, Your Grace."

"We have more, don't we?" Dany asked, smiling at Daario Naharis who would not stop gazing at Dany reverently.

"10,000 Unsullied." Ser Jorah lied easily, moving closer to Daenerys as he turned his gaze to Daario.

"I'm only a young girl, new to the ways of war, but perhaps a seasoned captain like yourself can explain to me how you propose to defeat us." Dany smiled, turning back to Mero who just chuckled into his goblet of wine as the young Daario Naharis spoke up.

"I hope the old man is better with a sword than he is with a lie. You have 8,000 Unsullied." Daario said, smirking at Jorah slightly before turning his gaze back to Dany.

"You're very young to be a captain." Dany noted tersely, annoyed that the young Tyroshi had called them out on their numbers.

"He's not a captain. He's a lieutenant." Prendahl said, uttering his first words of the day as he looked at Daenerys with distaste. Judging by his blood and his attitude, Daenerys assumed that he had had ties in Astapor.

"Even if your numbers are right, you must admit the odds don't favor your side." Dany said, turning back to Mero who finished his wine with a belch.

"The Second Sons have faced worse odds and won." He said in a bored tone as he held his goblet up for more wine from Missandei.

"The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run." Ser Jorah smirked, causing Daenerys to give her favorite knight a dazzling smile.

"Or you could fight for me." She implored, leaning forward to hold Mero's gaze challengingly. Mero, in turn merely laughed.

"We've taken the slavers' gold. We fight for Yunkai."

"I would pay you as much and more." Dany attempted, looking from one man to the other.

"Our contract is our bond. If we break our bond, no one will hire the Second Sons again." Prendahl practically spat at Daenerys who raised an eyebrow at the man's hostility.

"Ride with me and you'll never need another contract. You'll have gold and castles and lordships of your choosing when I take back the Seven Kingdoms." She smiled with such optimism that was quickly shattered.

"Take back? From The Young Wolf? Your eunuchs and your baby lizards won't help you against him, sweetheart. He's won every battle from south to north and raised an army of 130, 000. You'll never take back the Seven Kingdoms." Mero laughed, taking another deep drink from his goblet of Dany's wine. Daenerys was incensed, how did everyone seem to know more about this Robb Stark than she did, she turned an angry glance to Ser Jorah who bowed his head in shame, having been unable to gather much more information for her.

"My ancestor had less men and faced larger numbers. He had three dragons that won the country for him." Daenerys's words were fierce, sharp with the fury of the dragon.

"You have no ships. You have no siege weapons. You have no cavalry." Daario said with a bemused shake of his head.

"A fortnight ago, I had no army. A year ago, I had no dragons." She retorted, causing the Tyroshi to nod slowly as he chewed his own lip in thought.

"You have two days to decide." Daenerys declared, sitting back upright in her chaise to address the men coldly.

"Show me your cunt. I want to see if it's worth fighting for." Mero grinned, causing Grey Worm to step forward with his hand on his dagger.

 _"My Queen, shall I cut out his tongue for you?"_ Grey Worm asked in Valyrian.

" _This man is our guest."_ Dany responded, sending her Unsullied general back with a wave of her hand before she turned back to Mero.

"You seem to be enjoying my wine. How about a flagon to help you decide?"

"Only a flagon?" Mero asked finishing yet another a goblet "What are my brothers in arms to drink?" he asked, gesturing to Daario and Prendahl. Dany gave Mero a patient smile.

"A barrel then?" she asked causing Mero to nod in delight.

"Good." He rose from his chaise to leer at Daenerys one last time, before leading his men from the tent.

"Ser Jorah." Daenerys snapped angrily, her façade of civility having dropped at once.

"Your Grace?"

"Kill him first." She demanded, causing Jorah to grin and nod his head.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Here she is, here she is. So pretty much things are the same for Dany, she just doesn't have Ser Barristan's wise counsel (not that she ever listened to him), and she wins her victories mostly through luck. Her intentions are pure, but she still lacks the concept of ruling well. Robb and Jon will be on their way to show her soon enough.**_

 ** _I obviously spend a lot of time on these updates, so please do review!_**


	11. Chapter 11 - Storm & Strife

**_Author's Note: Hi everyone. I want to say a few things, which is firstly thank you to those who have positively supported me and this story. The fact is I do write all this for free and in my spare time, and I don't really get a reward from this._**

 ** _Secondly, the negative messages that I have received from some people who have been harassing me to write and update do NOTHING to quicken my pace. I have been incredibly busy, and I have to pay off my student loans so I can follow my passion of creating. If you want to encourage me to continue updating, leave a review of why you're enjoying the story. Don't send me a message saying "Update or else you're a shit writer."_**

 ** _I thank you all, truly, for loving this story as much as you do. This is a "filler" chapter to establish what's happening before I have a time-skip occur in my next chapter or two._**

* * *

"A wedding gift to you, my royal husband." Margaery smiled up at Robb as she stood before the Iron Throne to gesture to the back of the Great Hall, where six men were delicately carrying something that was as tall as Gregor Clegane, wrapped in many delicate furs and linens. The large pot at the front, carried by the first two men, housed the delicate white roots while the branches and the leaves were free to breathe behind. Robb looked startled as the men hauled a young weirwood tree before him.

"A weirwood in its adolescence from the Isle of Faces, gifted to my husband and my King to serve as the new heart tree in the Red Keep's Godswood. The green-thumbed caretakers of Highgarden have come here at my invitation to ensure that the roots take hold, so that the tree will grow as strong as our dynasty." Margaery beamed up at Robb, who stood from the throne in shock. He cursed the many steps he had to climb down to embrace her in a loving kiss before the eyes of the court. It was only the day after their wedding after all, the court received all showings of affection between the newly married couple with great joy and amusement.

The royal court now truly reflected the monarchy that held it. Northern and Reach nobility were prominent amongst those gathered in the Great Hall that day. King Robb and Queen Margaery had invited loyal houses, loyal knights, men and women of honor and wits. Robb and Margaery were a young, attractive royal couple, and thusly their styles and choices often set trends across King's Landing. Where the Westerland style of dress of heavy skirts and large billowing sleeves, of colourful impractical doublets with heavy cloaks had once prevailed due to the Lannister influence, the men now tended to dress with loose tunics and leather jerkins that Robb favored. Similiarly Margaery's sleeveless, backless dresses of various light and colourful fabrics were being mimiced by her ladies-in-waiting and the wives, sisters and daughters of Robb's courtiers.

The crowned grey direwolf's head on a field of white and pale green was draped proudly on either side of the Iron Throne. The Kingsguard consisting of Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Ethan Forrester, Ser Robar Royce, Brienne of Tarth and the probationary Ser Raynald Westerling stood vigilant before the platform of the Iron Throne, where the Small Council and Robb's family sat in attendance.

Robb ran his hand delicately over the bark of the weirwood in amazement.

"I am truly glad I had planned your crown as a surprise, seeing as you had this in the works." Robb chuckled, looking up to Margaery who beamed.

"It is my desire that when the tree has taken root, we may pledge our vows before your Old Gods, my husband. I know you desire this as well." Margaery's words were affectionate when Robb turned to her with an amazed shake of his head.

"A truly wondrous Queen, I have." Robb grinned.

* * *

This joyous golden period that followed Robb and Margaery's wedding did not last long. On the seventh day after their wedding a thunderstorm from the south violently pushed away the cold, clear front that King's Landing had enjoyed. The lightning, thunder, rains and gale-force winds that came to the capital brought much strife in the relationships within the Red Keep with them.

In the royal chambers Margaery had been pressing Robb to name her father to the role of Master of Ships as the royal couple had broken their fast together, Robb could not find a delicate way to tell Margaery that her father was a witless oaf and so he remained silent. Margaery had taken the silence as Robb ignoring her, and the argument had spiraled out of control from there, as most arguments tend to do. This being Robb and Margaery's first argument as a married couple, it had gotten particularly vicious as the young couple had no experience on how to handle each other in their anger.

It had finally ended when Margaery, fed-up of getting nowhere with the stoic and stubborn Robb, stormed out of their bedchambers before their Small Council meeting was to begin later that afternoon. Robb himself sighed, pressing his face into his hands. He knew that their first married fight would be difficult, but this was truly awful. He respected her family greatly, but Lord Mace lacked any knowledge of naval warfare or navigation, which was what Robb sorely required from his Master of Ships. Grey-Wind whined from Robb and Margaery's bed where he was lying, before sitting up to growl at Robb.

"Don't give me that." Robb snapped at his direwolf "She's being entirely unreasonable." Grey-Wind only tilted his furry head to whine at Robb again, who sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine! Gods, when did you start to take her side all the time?" Robb muttered in annoyance causing Grey-Wind to pant happily as Robb rose from his chair to don his fine brown leather jerkin.

He found Margaery with her ladies-in-waiting in the Queen's Ballroom, which had recently been renovated and redocated to reflect the Queen who now ruled. Margaery was eating an apple when Robb approached with Grey-Wind and Ser Barristan behind him. Ser Loras stood guard in front of the table where Margaery and her entourage were sat, bowing his head to the King as he passed.

"My Queen, my ladies." Robb greeted, hands clasped behind his back as he inclined his head to the women. All of whom respectfully bowed to Robb. All except Margaery who cooly observed her husband as she continued to chew.

"My King." She finally said thornily, causing Robb to sigh and close his eyes.

"My ladies, please give me and my Queen some privacy. Now." Robb's words sent Margaery's ladies scurrying away hurriedly as he moved to sit next to her at the high table. Even here in the heart of Maegor's Holdfast, they could hear the rain and thunder from outside. Robb briefly glanced out of the windows to see the courtyards practically flooded from the torrential downpour. Ser Loras and Ser Barristan stood by the doors to the ballroom, giving their King and Queen privacy to speak.

"What do you want?" his wife asked, avoiding his gaze. Robb sighed, rubbing his face and trying to find the words to convey what he was feeling until Grey-Wind gave a howl that startled them both.

"Sorry-I'm sorry, Margaery. I wasn't-…I wasn't ignoring you. Please don't think that I don't respect you or your family…but I just cannot accept your counsel on this one decision. I'm sorry." His words caused Margaery to turn angrily to her husband.

" _Why?_ "

"Because I cannot trust that your father will do the job well!" Robb finally snapped, causing Margaery to look taken aback.

" _Oh_." Margaery finally said causing Robb to look mortified.

* * *

Across the castle in the Tower of the Hand, Lord Jon Stark was having yet another argument with his intended. Ygritte was again wearing the furs she had sewn for herself Beyond-the-Wall, not caring for the Southern garments that Jon had gifted her or Margaery had picked out for her. She was of the North, and as much as she wanted to be south with Jon, King's Landing was too drastic a change for Ygritte.

"The alternative is living Beyond-the-Wall as meat for _their_ army!" Jon exclaimed as he and Ygritte stood across from one another in their private chambers.

"No, there's a difference between living and… _this_." Ygritte exclaimed, picking up a golden goblet and throwing it to the ground.

"This is not what I am, Jon Snow! _Fuck!_ I don't even understand why you had to change your fuckin' name!"Ygritte shouted causing Jon to sigh and rub his upper lip.

"This isn't working for me, Jon…" Ygritte sighed, looking up to Jon with shining eyes. Jon's heart leapt into his throat as he crossed the chambers to take Ygritte's hand.

"No...no. Don't say that. We'll leave. We'll leave together." Jon insisted to the first woman he had ever loved. Ygritte, who recognized a doomed end when she saw it, only shook her head sadly as she placed a loving hand on his cheek.

"You can't. I may not belong here…but you do. He's your brother, and he needs you. You want to be with your family…and I want to be with mine as well." Ygritte's lip trembled as she spoke. Jon held her hand against his cheek as he refused to believe what was happening. Robb had granted them everything, he had spared her life, give her leave to be his Lady here in King's Landing…but not even the presence of opportunity could change their inherent natures. Jon was a Lord. Ygritte was a free woman.

* * *

"I've been dancing around like an arse in front of your brother, bowing and making pretty, all for you! And you don't even understand that!" Gendry Waters exclaimed hotly as he strode out of his chambers after having ripped off a black and gold doublet. Princess Arya Stark was close behind him, walking out with her brow ever furrowed in anger.

"I didn't ask you to do any of this! Don't blame me becau-." Arya was cut off sharply by Gendry who turned on his heel just before the doors out onto the courtyard.

"You asked me to follow you! You said-…you said that you could be my family…did you mean it?" Gendry had begun angrily, but his voice and his demeanor softened instantly when he asked her that question. That one question that he had been pondering for weeks, nigh on months since she'd first said those words to him; _I can be your family._

"Of course I did…" Arya said quietly in turn, making to reach her hand out for Gendry's only for the eldest Baratheon bastard to hold it back.

"Well there's no way that can happen if I'm a bastard blacksmith who works in your brother's castle. You're a princess! An annoying one, but a princess nonetheless. I wanted Storm's End…so that I could finally do something with my life. I wanted to prove myself as a Baratheon, the great Storm Lords of the songs. I wanted to do great things and serve your brother…and I wanted to do it with you. Only you." Gendry said, causing Arya to shake her head in exasperation.

"I don't want to be a lady."

"And therein lies your problem. You think you're better than the other lords because you don't want to be one of them? You love your father but you hate your blood? You want adventure and glory. You need to grow up, Arya. Maybe we both do." Gendry looked at Arya intensely with the blue-eyed gaze he'd inherited from his father, before shaking his head and venturing out into the rain. Arya silently stared after him, his words shaking the wolf girl to her very core.

* * *

"Margaery…I'm sorry-…I didn't-…that's not-…" Robb started, after a long and tense silence had followed Robb's outburst. The King of Westeros looked as though he wished he could have smacked himself as he eyed his wife apprehensively. Margaery in turn looked up with a tight expression, but also a warmer gaze for Robb than she had had all morning.

"Robb. Please. If that's all it is, I wish you would have just been honest from the start. Because I can-…I _can_ understand that. My father is not…the most _capable_ of men, but he also controls all the ports, harbors and docks in the Reach. He's a valuable asset." Margaery sighed, placing her hand atop Robb's in a gesture of reconcilement.

"Aye, I agree that's true. But controls of these ports and docks are not what I need from my Master of Ships. I need a military man, a strong sailor who understands naval warfare and… I believe that I may be giving Davos Seaworth the chair instead and remove him from his office of Master of Laws. He has petitioned me for such only two night ago. He appreciated the seat, he says, but he feels that if he wants to serve me well that he should do it with something he knows. It was a good idea, but most of the laws the man broke were at sea. He's a sailor, a strong one at that. He's what I need to hold my navy, I see that now." Robb explained, causing Margaery to relent. She saw the burden that Robb had in trying to navigate governance of the realm. The Starks had not been a power at sea since Brandon the Burner, he was still learning, but she could see that his military and political brilliance was aiding him along nicely. She smiled, squeezing her hand in support for his idea.

"In turn…for all the resources of House Tyrell, perhaps I could name Willas to Master of Laws. Would that appease you, my Queen?" Robb asked, causing Margaery to look up with a frown at that. Did he think that all she was doing was for her own benefit? All she desired was to assist Robb in ruling, and having their family in key offices of power would surely assist their reign.

"Robb. I'm not-…I'm not looking to be appeased. That's not why I wanted you to name my father." She sighed, pulling her hand away from his.

"I'm your wife now, and though I love my family, I'm loyal to you and to our new House. All I want is for us to create a dynasty that will last. Together. If you want to name Willas to Master of Laws, don't do it on my account." She said, picking up her skirts to rise from the chair she was sitting on.

"Margaery, wait!" Robb stood up to place his hand her back, she stopped to turn and look at her husband expectantly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed that…I'm sorry. This is all…so new, being married…and juggling the Seven Kingdoms. The last person I want to fight with is you. I said Willas because he is intelligent and more than capable, plus…given how he and Sansa can't keep their eyes off each other, it would make everyone happy. Wouldn't it?" Robb asked, placing his hands tentatively on Margaery's waist. She sighed, still feeling upset with her husband but could not deny that he was at least apologizing. She placed her arms around his neck to peck his lips.

"It would." She grumbled, causing Robb to chuckle.

* * *

In the first few weeks of Robb's reign he had held court almost every day. It had been necessary for the young King to deal out his rulings following the great war that had ripped the country apart. After the wedding the Young Wolf had declared that he would court only twice a week. Small Council meetings and audience with many great lords were to now dominate Robb's daily schedule.

As the rain continued to lash King's Landing with its ceaseless downpour, the King and Queen made their way into the Small Council chambers arm-in-arm. Everyone was in attendance except for Jon Stark, and they all rose to bow when Robb and Margaery walked in.

"Be seated." Robb grunted as he took his own seat at the centre of the great table to glance down either side.

"And where is our Lord Hand this morning?" Robb asked, looking at the only vacant chair to his right where Jon usually sat. No-one had an answer for Robb, which he disliked.

"Ser Barristan. Would you be so kind as to locate the Hand?" Robb sighed, causing the loyal White Cloak to rise and bow at once before stepping out of the Small Council chambers, his white-scale armor clinking along as he walked.

"I don't intend to wait for Jon." Robb said tersely, curling his fist on the table top. He might have been the first King in almost twenty-five years to actually lead a Small Council without a Hand of the King present. The Small Council watched as Leo Tyrell placed a fresh scroll, quill and inkwell before Robb, followed shortly by a block of grey wax that bubbled over a small flame. Robb began scratching away with the quill before he started speaking.

"My first point of business is to remove Ser Davos Seaworth from the office of Master of Laws. This is to take effect at once, as Ser Davos will now be named to the position of Master of Ships. A position I feel he will be far better suited to. _Lord_ Davos Seaworth, I hereby charge you to begin raising a new royal fleet under the direwolf banners."

"At once, Your Grace. I thank you for the honor." Davos said with an incline of his head. Robb nodded, sprinkling sawdust over the parchment to absorb the wet ink

"In turn, I invite Willas Tyrell, Heir to Highgarden and the Queen's eldest brother, to join the Small Council as Master of Laws." Robb said, having rolled up the parchment to drip the liquid grey wax to seal it, before he pressed his royal stamp into the wax. He lifted the stamp away to reveal a crowned direwolf's head moulded into the wax.

"Present this to Willas Tyrell upon the conclusion of this meeting." Robb ordered of his royal steward, who bowed at once as he accepted Robb's royal invitation to office.

"It angers me that the Hand is not yet arrived, but we must press on." Robb said cooly, glancing to the door in hopes that Jon would arrive soon.

"Have patience, my love. Lord Jon would not intentionally abandon a Small Council meeting." Margaery soothed her husband, taking his hand in hers.

"Aye…" Robb sighed, rubbing his brow, before gesturing to the Small Council to deliver their reports.

"Work on the city has begun in earnest, my husband. The rains unfortunately will delay the work for some time, but once the weather has cleared we hope to have the work completed by eight month. Though delays are expected…" Margaery sighed, causing Robb to nod.

"There is little we can do to rush that, I'm afraid. I trust you are able to oversee this matter in its entirety, my Queen?"

"Of course, Your Grace." Margaery smiled, nodding her head.

"Good. What else?" Robb smiled at her before turning to the others.

"Word from the Citadel, Your Grace. The conclave have elected a new Grand Maester. Sadly, I am told that your Maester Luwin was not chosen." Varys said with a bow of his head, causing Robb to click his tongue in disapproval

"Who have they chosen?"

"A maester who attended your camps during the warring in the Westerlands and the Riverlands. A Northman by the name of Cregan. He is said to be a supporter of your cause, though I have never met the man personally."

"Nor I. It seems we shall just have to wait and see. What news of the North, Lord Varys?"

"Minor rebellion in the Night's Watch, Your Grace. Donal Noye put it down quite quickly, but I believe discontent simmers amongst those who lost friends to the wildlings."

"Well, if we are to change a rivalry that's thousands of years old, we are to expect much discontent." Robb sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"More news from the east as well, it seems Daenerys Targaryen has conquered Yunkai and that a sellsword company by the name of the Second Sons have joined her cause."

"Sellswords fight for neither honor nor loyalty." Lord Brynden Tully growled, the Blackfish had arrived to King's Landing only a night before the royal wedding with his new bride in tow. The founder of the House of Blackfish, and now the Master of War on the King's Council, Brynden Tully had come far since guarding the Bloody Gate for his mad niece Lysa.

"No, but they kill the men who do. Nine times out of ten." Oberyn said in that exotic drawl of his, his fingers rapping on the table.

"I must also admit to you now, King Robb, that I intend to return to Sunspear with my prisoners. My brother sends his children to hold court in my place until I return though." Oberyn said, causing a tense moment to occur in the Small Council chambers. Robb had not granted Oberyn leave, and yet the Prince of Dorne had already made his plans. Before Robb could react however, the doors of the chambers burst open.

"My King, my Queen, my lords and lady, Tycho Nestoris is awaiting your audience." A young squire announced, striding into the chambers to kneel before the table. Robb looked up at Leo Tyrell in wide-eyed shock, causing the Royal Steward to chase the squire away.

"Apologies, Your Grace. He's from the Vale…" Leo said with a shake of his head, causing Robb to sigh.

"Invite the banker in, Leo. Matters of state will have to wait until this issue is resolved. Lord Tyrion, are we prepared?" Robb asked, looking down the table to his Master of Coin who nodded at once. A few nights ago Robb had woken with a great realization. Why should they pay all the gold back, when they could use at least half to diversify and grow the Iron Throne's financial holdings. Robb had not been a man of numbers, but his interrogations of Petyr Baelish before the Mockingbird's death, and the words that Baelish had said had festered in Robb's mind.

Baelish had moved the Crown's debt to see himself prosper, but had his economics but applied for the good of the Iron Throne…there would have been no telling the economic power that Westeros could have been by now. So Robb had approached Margaery and Tyrion a few days ago, just as the near eight million golden dragons was about ready to be given to Tycho Nestoris as repayment. Robb had asked his Queen and his Coinmaster to criticize his plans, to poke holes where they saw them in Robb's intention to return half of the gold they owed, whilst using the other half to invest in wagons, shops, ships, houses, towers, materials, animals and farms. Robb wished to begin trade in earnest, to buy grain when it was plentiful and sell bread when it was scarce as an example of how to build the Royal House of Stark's financial power. If Robb was to be the founder of his dynasty, he had to else begin the financial diversification of the Crown's holdings. Margaery and Tyrion had merely gaped at the Northern King, who had innocently presented them with an idea that not even the Targaryens had had for themselves.

So when Tycho Nestoris bowed before the Small Council that day, Robb offered him a drink before they dove into negotiations.

"The bank expected twenty-thousand gold by next week, am I wrong?" Robb asked, glancing up to Tycho who shook his head. The Braavosi had been shown the greatest courtesies in King's Landing, and enjoyed all that the royal family had to offer. He had dined with Robb and Margaery more than once, and was by now relatively fond of the Wolf King and his Rose Queen.

"If there is a problem with the repayments, Your Grace-."

"There is no problem. I merely wish to negotiate new terms. Lord Tyrion." Robb sat back in his chair as Tyrion placed a heavy box onto the table before him. The Small Council passed it down until it was between Robb and Tycho who looked at each other.

"What is this?" Tycho asked curiously, lifting the box to see gold coins neatly and beautifully packed in the box.

"Twenty-thousand gold. Or thereabouts. I give this to you now as a goodwill payment, but what I ask of you is leniency." Robb said, causing Tycho to look up curiously, letting the lid of the box drop as he did so.

"Leniency?"

"Aye. The Iron Throne will repay half of its debt to you immediately. Today, if you like. But the Iron Bank will in turn grant us until spring to pay off the rest, without any additional interest charges." Robb said, causing Tycho to scoff incredulously.

" _Any?_ Come, come, King Robb. That is not how the bank does business." Tycho said with a derisive shake of his head.

"No? You're about to receive just under four million gold tomorrow, a large influx no matter who you are. All we wish to do is to usher our realm into financial stability so that we can pay off our debt in earnest, and similiarly show our citizens some fiscal responsibility." Robb said, leaning forward to implore the man who chewed his lip.

"I will-…I must think on these terms. The Iron Bank accepts this as your first repayment…" Tycho said, taking the heavy box of coin into his arms with a grunt.

"Return to me with your answer on the morrow, ser. I hope that we can come to an agreements and that the Iron Bank and Iron Throne can remain firm friends." Robb said, sitting back in his chair as Tycho bowed.

"I hope so as well, Your Grace. Thank you." Robb's smile dropped when the Braavosi was gone, he instead turned to Margaery who could only offer a supportive smile.

"Prince Oberyn. You will see me in my chambers after this meeting has concluded." Robb declared, before turning his head back to the others. Oberyn bristled slightly, but said nothing as the meeting continued.

"The Grey Cloaks are now almost entirely outfitted with our new equipment, and the ranks are growing with good lads from the country who wish to serve you. Your hero-status is working wonders for us all." Smalljon Umber laughed, causing Robb to smile briefly at his best friend.

"The Stormlords grow restless, Your Grace. They wish for you to name a new Baratheon soon." Varys sighed causing Robb to roll his eyes.

"I have worked to provide peace to the Stormlords, I will not hop at their command. I have still trouble making this decision between the two boys. Edric and Gendry are both deserving...so I believe they should both have opportunity, as I did with my brothers. I will name Gendry the Lord of Storm's End...and Edric to serve as his younger brother and heir until a son is born to him. Edric Storm might not be happy, but at least he will be a bastard no longer." Robb declared, causing his council to murmur their support of his choice.


	12. Chapter 12 - The Word of the Wolves

_**Author's Note: Ok, first thing I really want to say is a big SORRY to all my wonderful reviewers from the last chapter, my message was not directed at any of you but rather to a private message I received. All of you have been amazing supporters of me and this series, and I truly want to thank you for that and apologize if I made anyone feel singled out, because it was certainly not any of my reviewers who hassled me. You're all great, and I hope you enjoy this update.**_

* * *

Barristan Selmy was a knight, he was Lord Commander of Robb Stark's Kingsguard, and he was commonly known as Barristan the _Bold_ throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He faced foes across his fifty-odd years that could have easily killed him as he had killed them. But seeing what he saw in the Tower of the Hand caused the bold knight to falter for the first time in his life. The Hand of the King, a young boy in Barristan's eyes, had locked himself in his private chambers whilst a red-haired girl in animal furs pushed past Barristan with shining eyes and a fierce scowl.

"My lady-…?" Barristan called out to her as she hurried down the steps that had brought him up to the Hand's private chambers.

"I'm not a fuckin' lady!" Ygritte screamed up at Barristan Selmy as she descended. Barristan looked around sharply when he heard what sounded like a vase smash against the doors of the Hand's private bedchamber.

"My lord…?" Barristan called, after awkwardly clearing his throat. He heard nothing for a moment, until a hoarse voice answered him.

"What is it?"

"A Small Council meeting is taking place, my lord. The King has sent me to seek you out." Barristan called, stepping closer to the door uncertainly.

"Give the King my apologies. I cannot attend. And I resign my office." Jon finally said a few minutes later, when Barristan had given up hope of receiving a reply and had made to leave the chambers and seek out the King. The Lord Commander of the White Cloaks merely sighed, before turning back to the door.

* * *

"He said _what_?!" Robb Stark demanded, striding out of the Small Council chambers with Ser Barristan following behind him, the knight's features contorted into worry. Barristan had wisely waited till after Robb had concluded his Small Council meeting to inform the Young Wolf of what his Hand had said, but even then the Queen had been present. Margaery had given Robb a look of deep concern as the King became deeply angered. Robb had yet to find out that Ygritte had left Jon. This was a rare moment where Ser Barristan felt too old to be serving such a young monarchy, but it was always quickly pushed away by Robb Stark's leadership and honor. Traits that he had not seen in any King since King Jaehaerys II, and even then Jaehaerys had been a sickly and frail man. Robb was young, healthy and strong. Barristan felt honored to serve this man, even as he felt dread whilst joining the Wolf King in marching into Lord Jon Stark's private bedchamber.

"I will _honestly_ have you thrown into a cell if you pack one more thing into that trunk." Robb growled to his brother, who was truly his cousin. Jon merely turned to Robb clutching a wrinkled tunic in his hand.

"You don't need me here. I'm doing nothing to help your governance. You need someone stronger." Jon stated, looking to Robb with hollow eyes. Robb tilted his head, looking around the chambers to see shards of porcelain that had once been a vase on the stone floor, he saw that Ygritte's trunk from Winterfell was lying open and dresses that had been given to her were lying around it.

"What happened?" Robb turned his blue-eyed gaze back to Jon, his words softer than they had been when he entered the chambers. Jon bit his bottom lip, glancing to the trunk he was packing before back up to his royal brother. His voice strained with emotion, Jon told Robb what had happened. How Ygritte had left after yet another massive argument between them. Jon, still a young man, and a compassionate one at that, was experiencing the end of his first relationship (albeit a far better end that he and Ygritte faced in another life). Jon was heartbroken, and without the immediate threat of death and destruction to numb him from the pain, Jon felt the grief in full.

Robb could only sigh, sit next to his brother and place an arm around his shoulders in comfort as Jon let himself sob once, before regaining his composure.

"I can't serve you like this. I'm not meant to be Hand, Robb." Jon said, clasping his hands in his lap to stare at them.

"Maybe you're not. But right now I don't need a Hand. I am a capable ruler and I have Margaery and a good Council at my side. I named you Hand because you are the one person I can trust besides my wife. You are who I need when we face the Others, Jon. It's you I want leading the efforts against the White Walkers. Its your destiny. And its _our_ destiny to find Daenerys Targaryen."

"We've been saying that for months." Jon scoffed, brushing his arm across his congested nose roughly.

"I have had Seven Kingdoms to rule, Jon." Robb said, a touch of cold steel in his voice, causing Jon to sigh.

"You say I'm supposed to lead us all against them…I don't even feel like I can lift myself off this bed." Jon said, his voice cracking at the end. He looked up to Robb with shining eyes "I loved her." Robb could only frown sympathetically and squeeze his arm around his brother as a tear trailed down Jon's cheek.

"As much as you two felt for each other…it couldn't be, Jon. It could never be. I gave her citizenship, I gave her freedom…she wasn't made for Westeros. She's of a deeper North than you or I." Robb said a little while later as the brothers shared their sixth or seventh cup of Dornish red, watched over by a bemused Ser Barristan.

"You shut your whore mouth, Robb Stark." Jon hiccoughed, pointing a swaying finger at his brother.

"Watch it now." Robb cautioned, before raising his goblet. He was of a far better condition than Jon, who had not eaten since the night before and was also emotionally distraught.

"She's a wildling, Jon. Not like Osha. Osha came to be free, now she loves us enough to kneel. She loves Rickon and Bran like they were her own. She donned the mail and plate of my army like she was born to it. She came to us for protection, Ygritte's first goal was to conquer the Wall. She says she wanted safety, aye. But she would never kneel. This is the Seven Kingdoms…and you, Jon Stark are a Warden and Lord of those Kingdoms. That's who you are, that's who you were born to be. You are born to rule, Jon. And Ygritte's presence here has kept you distracted. I overlooked it, because I too was enamored by my Queen. But now… _now_ I need you. I need you to-."

 _"Kill the boy, and let the man be born."_ Jon said quietly into his cup, causing Robb to look slightly taken aback by those very poignant words.

"Aye…" Robb said with furrowed eyebrows, causing Jon to merely shrug and finish his wine.

"What of the family? Did you not wish for Lady Catelyn to return with Rickon to Winterfell?"

"Aye. But I have still had no word from Bran. If anything happens to me, Rickon is technically my heir. I have to keep him close. I know Mother wishes to go to Riverrun to be with grandfather, I might give her leave to go with Lord Brynden and the girls on the morrow."

"Rickon?"

"I suppose he shall have to go as well. Ser Ethan, Ser Robar and Brienne of Tarth can ride with them as their Kingsguard…" Robb mused, glancing to Ser Barristan who nodded his head in silent acquiescence to his King's plan.

"And Bran?" Jon burped, reaching over to fill his goblet again.

"It's been almost three months since I sent him North…I'm worried. Very worried. I might send word to Donal Noye to send a ranging party to search for him, but they didn't even know where they were going when they left." Robb sighed, sitting back in his chair to massage his brow.

"It was folly to send them North."

"I had no choice. If you'd seen the things I'd seen, you'd understand why I am doing all of this. Why we have to go find Daenerys Targaryen."

"If we need her before winter, why are we dawdling in Westeros?" Jon asked, looking up to Robb with bleary eyes.

"Because I do not feel the time is right. The Citadel themselves say that the cold front they had initially observed coming in from the North has receded greatly. They're predicting a longer autumn. Maybe even three years long." Robb said, causing Jon to shake his head furiously.

"Do you not see the danger in that? They're retreating, reevaluating us. We're stronger to them now, and they know that! If we leave them to brew, they will hit us harder than we may be able to cope with. If you put so much stock in Bran and the Reeds, then we should begin our plans to leave immediately." Jon insisted fiercely, leaning over the table to speak to Robb who recoiled at the wine on his brother's breath.

"I will take counsel from a sober Hand. Not a drunk one." Robb's kingly voice had returned as he rose from the table, causing Ser Barristan to stand to attention.

"Tonight…I will give you to drink. Tomorrow, I want you to start acting like the Hand of the King. I have had no word from the miners I sent to Dragonstone, if we do not collect enough dragonglass by winter, then we truly stand no chance." Robb pushed his chair in, walking to stand in front of Ser Barristan who opened the chamber doors for him.

"I need you. You never failed father, you never failed me until today. Don't fail me again." Jon watched his brother and Barristan the Bold walk out, leaning back into his chair to finish yet another glass of wine before making a snarling motion with his lips, he hurled the goblet into the wall before burying his face in his hands.

* * *

Though Robb had not been as drunk as Jon, he was still well into his cups. He jovially climbed up the steps of Maegor's Holdfast to explode into his and Margaery's shared chambers, his Queen laughed as he grinned at her, only to wrinkle her nose when she smelled the wine.

"Gods, Robb…you smell like Tyrion Lannister…" Margaery japed, placing an affectionate hand on her royal husband's chest.

"Ygritte left." Robb said, causing Margaery to express a groan of concern for Jon.

"Oh no, did you get him drunk to get over it?"

"Tried to. I may have been a bit harsh with him, but sometimes he needs it." Robb sighed, slurring his words slightly as he moved towards the chambers where they stored their bath and fresh clothes.

"You know you're supposed to meet Prince Oberyn soon…" Margaery reminded, leaning against the archway that separated their bedchambers and the bath chambers to watch her King pull his tunic off.

"Oh Gods…" Robb slapped a hand to his forehead, cursing himself for forgetting, and especially for the fact he was too drunk to now coherently meet with the Red Viper. He looked up to Margaery.

"You'll have to take the meeting."

"Me?" Margaery's eyes widened with shock, she knew her husband was a progressive King and had much faith in her abilities, but to entrust the Queen with a diplomatic task of such import had not been heard of since the days of the Old King.

"Who else?" Robb asked incredulously before he splashed water onto his face.

"Any other member of the Small Council…? Robb, Prince Oberyn-."

"He is no match for my Queen. I know this." Robb said confidently, moving to place his hands on Margaery's waist and peck her forehead.

"The fact is, he's decided to leave King's Landing without my permission and has decided that his niece and nephew will come instead. We did not authorize him for any of this. We may be young, but we will not stand such disrespect. Make that clear to him, my love. I know you can." Robb kissed Margaery before turning to search for a new tunic.

"Very well…" Margaery grumbled, her cheeks flushed with nerves and from the compliments Robb bestowed unto her.

* * *

Robb had wisely decided to eat and sleep off his drunken state to clear his head as quickly as possible. Margaery used Robb's own solar, outside of which were stationed Brienne of Tarth and Ser Raynald Westerling, clad in his newly bequeathed white cloak and armor after having been deemed loyal and true by King Robb. Ser Barristan and Ser Loras guarded Margaery inside the solar as Oberyn bowed to the Wolf Queen before taking the seat she offered him. Margaery herself sat in the seat of Kings with the two White Cloaks on either side of her. Prince Oberyn crossed his legs, smirking as he glanced between the two, his eyes lingered on Loras before turning back to Margaery.

"Am I so dangerous that you need so many guards, Your Grace?" Oberyn smiled, causing Margaery to give him one in return. Margaery was an accomplished politician, thanks in large to her grandmother's training. Only Robb and her family saw her true smile, her warmth. Oberyn received a smile from Queen Margaery Stark that was barbed with thorns.

"My dear husband did insist on it. After all, your declaration in the Small Council chambers today had us concerned." Margaery's words were patient, but there was a certain tension in the room. A struggle for power almost between the older man and the younger woman who was his rightful Queen.

"Concerned?" Oberyn chuckled, before spreading his palms apart "What is there to be concerned about? Your King-."

" _Our_ King." Margaery corrected with a smile that made Oberyn Martell recoil slightly. Margaery was slowly gaining dominance in this power play.

"Yes… _our_ King bequeathed us The Mountain and the Old Lion. They are to do be dealt with as Sunspear wishes, and Sunspear wishes to finally take custody over the men who murdered their Princess."

"You say bequeath, we both know what it truly was, Prince Oberyn. An _exchange_ , His Grace gave you the men you have been seeking for over half your life and in turn you swore him Dorne. You swore us your loyalty." Margaery reminded the Red Viper, her hands elegantly clasped together atop the leather inlay of the ancient desk.

"My loyalty is not in question." Prince Oberyn's words were dark and sharp, but Queen Margaery's retort was twice that.

"Oh but it is." Oberyn sat back, Margaery's words almost stinging him before the Queen continued "Neither King Robb nor I gave you leave to vacate your seat on the Small Council, neither King Robb nor I invited Prince Quentyn and Princess Arianne to the capital. If Dorne is to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, then it will fall into line as the rest of the Kingdoms do. We do not recognize your authority to dictate to us what will and will not happen." Margaery all but gave the Red Viper a verbal lashing, the older Dornishman was himself blinking at Margaery with the barest hint of embarrassment upon his features.

"The King wished for these words to be said to you in private, so as to not shame you before the Small Council." Margaery said after a moment, her tone slightly gentler.

"Wise." Oberyn muttered, clasping his hands together tightly in his lap as he pursed his lips at Margaery. Oberyn knew that it was a gamble, making the decision to leave. It was to test how lenient the Stark House was…and he saw now that this monarchy was of Valyrian Steel. As much as he knew this had backfired onto him, he could not help but be impressed by these two young nobles.

"What punishment has the King seen fit to give me?" Oberyn finally asked, tilting his head to sigh at Margaery who sat back in her own chair.

"This is not a Targaryen dynasty, Prince Oberyn. Robb does not wish to behead you or take away the gifts he promised you. But he makes one thing clear, this insubordination will be forgiven once. Not twice." Margaery tilted her head to hold Oberyn's gaze strongly, while her brother and Ser Barristan tried to avoid looking overtly proud of the way their Queen had just handled herself with a man many years her senior.

"Understood." Oberyn finally said, bowing his head deeply to Margaery. "I apologize. And I ask now for your leave. Dorne wishes for the blood of the Mountain, and my brother also hopes that you will welcome our family into your court as you have so many others."

"You are expected to return to your seat in two moons time, Prince Oberyn. In the meantime, the King will himself deliberate whether or not Prince Quentyn and Princess Arianne are welcome to his Council. While they are in our court, they will be shown every courtesy as is befitting the children of the Lord Paramount of Dorne." Margaery stated, before rising from her chair to indicate that the meeting was over. Oberyn looking up at Margaery was a clear indication of who had won this bout. The Red Viper had renewed respect for the young monarchs.

"That is more than fair." Oberyn said sincerely, rising to bow to Margaery. And in truth, it was. He had not expected such generous conditions after what they had just discussed, and it only endeared him slightly more to King Robb and Queen Margaery Stark.

"Robb is not a cruel man. Show him loyalty and he will reward you." Margaery smiled, walking with Oberyn to show him out of the solar.

"And as I have seen, the opposite is also true. Those who have shown him disloyalty and treachery have all been destroyed." Oberyn noted, causing Margaery to smile thinly before opening the door for Oberyn.

"Save travels, Prince Oberyn."

"I thank you, Your Grace." Oberyn bowed once more, rising to have his characteristic smirk in place before turning on his heel to leave the room. When Margaery closed the door behind her, she let out a long, shaky breath followed by a laugh.

"How did I do?" she asked Ser Barristan and Ser Loras with a grin, causing both Kingsguard knights to clap their gauntleted hands together in approval.

* * *

The next morning, the rains had eased and the sky was a dull silver streaked with grey as opposed to a violent mass of dark-grey. The builders whom Margaery Stark had commissioned from across the Narrow Sea began their work again, crafting the first underground sewage system in Westeros that would radically change King's Landing from the shit-stinking rat's nest it was into a shining city of trade and industry that rose up from the west. The City Watch were now fully outfitted with grey chainmail and grey steel chest plates that were embossed with the crowned direwolf's head of the Royal House Stark along with woolen cloaks that were dyed grey with stripes of white and green at the hem. The Grey Cloaks, as they were now known, were a clear presence across the city, and for the first time in three-hundred-years, their ranks were filled with good and honorable men under the stewardship of Commander Smalljon Umber.

The Royal Fleet was docked in Blackwater Bay, with the many different colored sails of the seized ships being systematically replaced with the grey, white and pale green sails of the Starks. The Royal Army, numbering around 26, 000 strong, was put to work under the orders of their leader Lady Dacey Mormont, clearing the many acres of land where the Dragonpit had once sat proudly atop Rhaenys's Hill. The area had been now rendered a gigantic mound of ash and rubble after the wildfire disaster, Robb had declared that a new tower fortress would be built in it's place as the headquarters to the Royal Army. This was the first instance in Westerosi history that a King had a standing army at his command to enforce his rule. The men had followed Robb since the death of Renly Baratheon, and some even before that. The soldiers were almost overly loyal to their hero king.

King's Landing was changing for the better, and it was all thanks in large to the dark-haired, blue-eyed man who sat behind his desk in his private solar, looking at two young boys who stood before him in doublets that were of differing patterns of black and gold.

"Do you understand?" Robb asked of them. Gendry could only silently bow his head, shocked by the news. Edric, however, was fuming. He stepped forward, closer to Robb's desk to speak.

"Your Grace, I must protest. I am King Robert's only acknowledged bastard, I grew up in Storm's End itself and I have known the Stormlands since I was a boy. Gendry is-."

"Your brother." Robb interrupted before the boy could say any more "Your elder brother at that. The laws of succession are clear, and I believe I am being more than generous with the pair of you. You have something you've never had before in your life, Edric."

"And what's that?" Edric asked, barely managing to contain a scoff.

"A brother. And believe me…a brother means the world to you. You may not have Storm's End, but you will have power, a name, riches and glory. I will take you both in my service as squires after your stint in the Stormlands together, after which I will knight you both. Edric, you will serve as Gendry's heir…and that in itself is respectable. I also note that you are courting your cousin Shireen, should you wed and rise to become a strong sailor, I would give you Dragonstone, your own castle and your own lordship." Robb let these words sink in with the pair of them, before continuing on, his words slightly harsher now as they needed to be "Either the pair of you accept these terms and ascend to being Baratheons of Storm's End, or both of you remain bastards with no name. What say you?" Robb placed his clenched fist atop the desk as Gendry and Edric eyed each other out. Robb knew that Gendry would accept, the boy looked like he was overwhelmed with joy. Edric however was the difficult factor. Robb could see Edric working things over in his head until finally the boys turned from one another simultaneously…

"I accept." The boys said in unison, before glaring at each other. Robb glanced between the pair of them before sighing.

"Then in court tomorrow I will call you both before the Iron Throne and you are to swear me your service, after which I will hand you both your decrees of legitimization." Robb stated, causing both boys to bow before rising to glance at each other through the corners of their eyes.

"It is also my decree that Ser Ethan and Ser Robar will escort you both to the nearest tavern where you are to both have many drinks and talk about how you are now brothers. Your own father would have it no other way, from what my father told me about him. Am I clear?" Robb asked, rising from his chair to have the boys look at him with open mouths.

"Your Grace-…that is most-." Edric began, trying to figure a way out of having to spend any more time with the boy who was now officially his brother.

"Necessary. Ser Barristan, find your sworn brothers and have them escort the brothers Baratheon, would you?" Robb said, looking to Ser Barristan who stood vigil by the door to the King's Chambers. The Bold knight could only smile, before stepping forward.

"Your Grace, if I may…?"

"Yes, Ser Barristan?"

"As you know, I served King Robert as his own Lord Commander. I knew him well these past twenty years. It would be…I would like to share what I can with these boys, if it please you. I believe it would help." Ser Barristan explained, holding his helm under his arm tighter as he looked from Gendry and Edric to Robb. The boys first looked taken aback, and then somewhat excited to learn more about their famous father. Robb could only smile and nod, Ser Barristan was a kind man. Robb was lucky to have him by his side.

"Go, Ser Barristan. Tell them all you can, and send Ser Loras to my side in your place." Robb dismissed them, before sinking into his chair with a heavy breath. Grey-Wind, who was curled up beside him, gave a great snore that caused the Wolf King to shake his head.

"The good life for you, eh?" Robb grumbled, scratching his wolf's ears before returning to the mountain of scrolls and parchments that awaited him.

He did not get a long moment alone, for his Hand knocked on his chamber door to request entry. Robb could see that Jon was disheveled and still hadn't slept properly, but he could also see that his brother had shaved, bathed and donned fresh clothes.

"Well you clean up nice." Robb said with a gentle smile, causing Jon to chuckle as he approached Robb's desk to clasp his hands behind his back.

"You were right, and I'm sorry. I failed you. I will not fail you again. I have received word from the miners today, and their progress in mining the dragonglass is slow but steady. I have commissioned more men to join them, and requisitioned four of our ships to transport them to King's Landing where I have found three smiths and a couple of Myrish glassmakers who will be able to work the dragonglass to coat our existing blades or craft new weapons on their own."

"My Hand." Robb smiled, before nodding for Jon to sit in the chair before him.

* * *

 _ **Two Months Later...**_

* * *

More than a thousand leagues to the North, past the wonder that was the Wall, past the growing settlements of free folk who were establishing themselves just north of the Wall and deep into the Haunted Forest, beneath a wooded hill and through a deep system of caves was the Heir to the Iron Throne, the Lord of Winterfell; Bran the Broken. Lying across the thick roots of an ancient weirwood, Bran was propped up on his elbows even as his eyes were a ghostly, milky white. Jojen Reed sat beside him, his eyes equally as affected, while their surviving companions watched from behind them. Of the soldiers Howland Reed and Robb Stark had sent with Bran, Hodor, Jojen and Meera, only four still lived. Two Stark men and two Reed men, all the more loyal to their little lords after all they had seen in the cave they were in now. From Children of the Forest, to giants, to more mystical things that they could barely even explain.

Bran twitched, before his eyes rolled back down and he took a deep gasping breath. His elbows gave way as he collapsed to the ground while Jojen Reed also awoke to look pale and sickly. Both boys looked to each other before up to the great weirwood, where the husk of a man was entwined in its roots. Brynden Rivers, he had once called himself, Bloodraven they had once called him. Now he went by no name at all.

"It is time for you to go home, Brandon Stark." Came a voice that was slow and dry as though it were the wind rustling through a thousand dead leaves.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: :) Hope you enjoyed it._**


	13. Chapter 13 - Time Passes

**_Author's Note: Hey everyone! So as seen in my last chapter, a time skip has occurred. This chapter however details most of the major events that happened around Westeros in the two months before Bran begins his journey home. Lots of little snippets that are all over the place time-wise! Hope you enjoy and leave a review!_**

 ** _I really have been trying to pick up my writing game, and this is the biggest chapter I've written so far :)_**

* * *

 _ **The Day after Ygritte left Jon...**_

* * *

Storm clouds still brewed over the capital, their dark grey dominance assuring the end to the longest summer in living memory. In the history books that would be written, they would say that the storm clouds heralded a new age for Storm's End. The entire court was gathered in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, with every eye trained either on the two young men kneeling before the Iron Throne, or the regal man who sat upon it, looking down at the boys with the characteristically somber Stark expression. Robb clenched the pommel of an ancient greatsword, which the black fire of Balerion the Dread had forged to become an armrest of the monstrously beautiful Iron Throne. He leaned forward to clear his throat, bringing complete silence to the throne room that had only been buzzing with whispers.

"Gendry Waters. Edric Storm." Robb addressed the boys, causing the black-haired, blue-eyed brothers to simultaneously tilt their heads up to look at Robb.

"Several weeks ago, I ordered you both to present yourselves at court so I could determine which one of you were worthy to inherit the Baratheon name." The Young Wolf began, his King's voice traveling across the hall as he spoke, his Northern tones bringing a much needed change to a room that had seen his own grandfather and uncle killed at the orders of the Mad King. Every eye in the Great Hall was on Robb now, all that could be heard was the uncomfortable shuffling of the nobles who felt as though they had been standing for too long.

"From what I saw neither of you had what it took. Gendry, your blood may be noble but you have no knowledge of ruling a castle or lands. Edric, you have no knowledge of how to inspire loyalty in the men who would follow you, you have no idea of the trials they suffer. However, Gendry does. Gendry knows how to lead men, how to inspire men as a Lord of Storm's End. And Edric has known of nobility and courtesy all his life. He has known Storm's End all his life. Which is why it is my royal decree that _both_ of you boys be cleared of the taint of bastardry, and from this day onward be recognized as legitimized sons of Robert Baratheon. Together, I hope that you will both lead the Stormlands as your ancestors have done for three hundred years. As eldest son of Robert of House Baratheon, I call on you to rise and serve me now; Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End!" The congregation clapped for the words of King Robb more than they did for a boy they had no knowledge of. Gendry rose from his kneel, looking pale but resolved as he bowed his head gratefully to Robb.

"As the younger son of Robert Baratheon, I call you on to rise and serve me; Edric Baratheon, Heir to Storm's End." Edric rose to a louder applause, he had more friends among the nobility than Gendry did. Robb could see that the brothers were giving each other furtive glances as they stood before him, there was a marked difference in the tension between them, it was almost shy as opposed to adversarial. Robb hoped that his idea for them to bond over a drink had worked. He had heard from many sources that drinking was the way Robert Baratheon managed to uncannily turn enemies into friends, the Wolf King prayed that this trait was passed down to Robert's two sons.

"My Lord Hand, please bestow the brothers Baratheon with their decrees of legitimization." The Hand of the King, still disheveled though he was, was giving his all to serve his brother truly. Jon Stark smiled as he handed Gendry and Edric their respective scrolls that were sealed in a golden wax stamped with Robert Baratheon's own sigil.

"As both of you have had little training in preparation for lordship, I am also ordering Ser Cortnay Penrose to remain at Storm's End as Castellan. The Iron Throne will act in the stead of House Baratheon in any matters of grievance, justice or war until such a time as you both have completed your tour of the many castles and lands that are now under your domain. Your lords bannermen have assured me that they will be honored to host and hone you into Storm Lords worthy of the name. After you have completed your tour, you will return here to the capital to serve as my squires where you will gain additional tutelage in rule as you work to gain your knighthoods. I urge you both to make preparations to leave at once. Gods be with you, my lords." Robb smiled, nodding to the boys who bowed with deep gratitude to Robb before turning on their heel to march away. Gendry did his best to walk with pride and elegance, though no-one was truly studying the way he walked. Edric shot him a sidelong glance.

"Hold your head up higher. You're a great lord now." He whispered quietly to his brother who did just that. Gendry gave Edric a hint of a smile as they parted ways at the back of the Great Hall, Edric to Shireen and his entourage, and Gendry to Princess Arya Stark, the tomboyish and wild-blooded younger sister of King Robb…who was wearing a dress.

Gendry's features contorted into pure comical confusion at the sight of Arya Stark looking freshly bathed, her hair was just above her shoulders and now groomed to suit her, rather than a shocking bob forced onto her by the dull edge of Yoren's dagger. She looked uncomfortable, surely, but there was a glint in her eyes as she looked up at Gendry who smiled down at her.

"Only sometimes. Only when it's important, and only when I say so." Arya declared. Gendry was not the sharpest blade in the armory, but even he understood that Arya was talking about her adhering to the standards of court and nobility. She would be a lady when it called for it, but she was still Arya underneath it all.

"So, where is it?" Gendry smiled, standing close to her at the back of the Great Hall while her brother carried on in court behind him.

"Stashed in my shoe. Brienne and Osha showed me how to hide it." Arya smiled, taking a step back to lift her foot up so Gendry could see the glint of steel in the sole of Arya's sandal. Gendry could only chuckle, before taking Arya's arm in his to leave the Great Hall. Brienne of Tarth and Osha had both taken the young Princess under their wing to show her all they could about what they knew. Arya was becoming studied in the way of the sword as well as the way of the spear.

"You know I have to leave, don't you?" Arya sighed at Gendry's question; she obviously knew he had to go. She also knew she couldn't join him, so when they reached a quiet corner of the wall walk of the castle, looking out to the cliffs and the sea, Arya turned around to lean up on her tip-toes and kiss Gendry. Though she had no idea what she was doing, neither did Gendry, and so while it was awkward between them at first, it was also quite sweet.

"Don't be an idiot. After everything we've seen…don't get complacent. He may be your brother now, but he also wanted what you now have. Be careful." Arya cautioned her intended, holding his hand in hers for a moment before stepping away. Gendry frowned, not wanting to think of the worst when he hoped for the best, but he still nodded.

* * *

 ** _A Week Later..._**

* * *

Margaery Stark sighed as her husband kissed the side of her neck, her hand ran up to caress his face behind her before Robb pecked her shoulder and urged her to rise off his lap from the chair they had been making use of. Margaery stretched, knowing that would drive the already spent Robb crazy before she shot him a mischievous look over her shoulder and hurried to dive into their bed, causing the Young Wolf to laugh. Robb brought her a goblet of water, before joining her in bed. Margaery herself curled further beneath the furs of their bed and into Robb's bare chest as her husband sat up against the headboard with yet another book borrowed from Tyrion Lannister. After having read the Lives of Four Kings (twice), Robb had found a new love for the wisdom of words and what they offered to his rule. Margaery had never pegged the grim, battle-hardened Young Wolf to be a bookworm, but almost every night after they made love and before they went to sleep, Robb would pick up a tome and light a candle to read in bed. Margaery would usually fall asleep with Robb's hand unconsciously caressing her beneath the covers as he read, sometimes she would stay awake to watch him with great interest; the way his vivid eyes would flick across the page, the way his brow furrowed when he read something he didn't quite understand or when he smiled slightly once he'd solved it. Margaery found herself quite in love with Robb Stark, and still marveled at how her life had brought her to be where she was now; Queen to a man who loved her. Renly had been a good man, kind and gentle and every bit full of courtesy…but he was not Robb. Robb who hid a great compassion for all beneath an exterior of stern Northern grimness, Robb who saw the way to a better Westeros and inspired those around him to see the same, Robb who cherished Margaery for her wit, capability and instincts for rule far more than the power her father brought to his cause or her famous beauty.

"What do you read tonight, my love?" Margaery asked tiredly, causing Robb to smile down at her. He moved one hand to caress her shoulder.

"Archmaester Wymon's _The Great Bastards_. A summarized recount of the early and later lives of the bastards of Aegon the Unworthy."

"Oh, Daemon Blackfyre, Aegon Rivers, Brynden Rivers…Gwenys Rivers?"

"Aye, there's a Gwenys." Robb chuckled, looking down to Margaery who wearily tried to remember her teachings.

"And the witch, the one that Bittersteel and Bloodraven fought over." Margaery yawned before nuzzling herself closer to Robb.

"Shiera Seastar. She's in here too. I'm on Brynden Rivers right now. King Aegon the Unlikely imprisoned him as soon as he took the throne, despite the fact that Bloodraven had orchestrated Aegon's rise in the first place." Robb explained, Margaery by now had her eyes closed and merely murmured in response, causing the King to smile down at his Queen before turning back to his book. From the subtext of what Robb had read so far, some Kings ruled the realm outright, whilst others did it behind the scenes. Brynden Rivers was the prime example of that, he had done dishonorable things to keep the realm intact and his true-born brother's name clean. Robb still struggled to wrap his mind around such politics but was ever thankful for the woman who slumbered peacefully by his side, Margaery's political skill greatly complemented Robb's honor and natural charismatic leadership.

* * *

 _ **The Next Day...**_

* * *

The aroma of a warm and hearty breakfast mingled with the scents of many freshly bathed nobles from House Tyrell and House Stark. After an extended stay in the capital at the behest of the King and Queen, it was time for their families to return home or attend to other business. Lord Mace Tyrell was returning with his wife and grandmother to Highgarden, leaving his children behind as the Master of Laws, Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep, Knight of the Kingsguard and Queen of Westeros. Mace Tyrell did quite resemble the puffer fish of the Summer Isles when one saw him speak of how high his family had climbed. The rest of the Tyrells were clearly embarrassed by their father's behavior, and conducted themselves with far more grace as the two families broke their fast together. Robb and Margaery sat at the center of the table, clearly happy to be surrounded by their family after facing so much horror during the war and expecting more horror to come in the winter.

With a nudge and a slightly stern look from his Queen, Robb banged his mug of ale down on the table to bring silence amongst the families. Robb licked his lips as he rose to speak.

"I'm getting bloody tired of speeches, I can tell you now." Robb grinned to those in the room, for now they were all bound by marriage they were one family. They laughed at Robb's lighthearted jape, before the Young Wolf continued.

"There is little I can say to summarize the feelings of gratitude that Margaery and I have to each and every one of you for all that you have done. A year ago our two families could not have been further apart, today the Starks and the Tyrells stand as one and have already begun to implement change that sees our great country change for the better. I promise you all, my family, that our dynasty will protect Westeros from what is to come whilst we also move forward into an age of peace and prosperity. My marriage to Margaery was the first instance of the great things that can come when the wolf and the rose work together…" Robb smiled, glancing to Margaery who sat by his side, her golden brown eyes shining with encouragement for Robb to continue, she knew what he was about to say. It was she who had made Robb see sense after all.

"And from our union, another has blossomed; Sansa and Willas." Robb grinned, turning to his sister and Margaery's eldest brother who sat beside each other at the end of the table. Both looked up with flushed cheeks, not desiring such attention but having no choice but to endure it when it came from their King.

"Many months ago…there was talk of a betrothal. As head our House…and as King, I give my consent for this to happen. What say you, Lord Mace?"

"I think-." Mace Tyrell might have exploded if he bristled with any more pride, his daughter married to a King and his son married to a Princess, it was the dream of every ambitious lord. However before Mace could say more than two words, his mother cut over him to give the final say.

"We accept." Olenna Tyrell smiled, causing all eyes to flick towards her.

"But, before we make any rash decisions…we must ask you both…Sansa, Willas, what say you?" Robb turned back to the couple in question, who were gazing at each other as though no-one else was there. They might have been having a telepathic conversation for the way they looked so intensely at each other, until finally Sansa gave Willas a small smile and an even smaller nod.

"We accept." They said together, they both knew that such alliances were brokered like this all the time in Westeros, but with Sansa being the gentle lady that she was and Willas being the proper chivalrous lord that he was they were both flushing with the embarrassment of having been put in the spotlight. Sansa had once craved the spotlight, she had once craved Margaery's position before Margaery had even held it. She had no such ambition any longer. Not after Joffrey. All Sansa wanted was to help her family, she only wanted to help the Starks stay strong and she also wanted to be safe. Highgarden had been a haven for her…and the thought of one day being Lady of Highgarden comforted her far more than the notion of Queen had ever excited her.

* * *

 _ **A Few Days Later...**_

* * *

"Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn of House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, children of Prince Doran Martell, Lord of Sunspear!" the Martells had brought their own herald to announce the arrival, his exotic Dornish accent capturing the attention of the court the moment he began to shout. Robb himself looked up with a raised eyebrow from the Iron Throne as the crowd parted to allow three men through that were armored in the light leather of Dorne, dyed orange and trimmed with red and yellow. One of them held the standard of House Martell; a red sun pierced by a yellow spear proudly, while the other two held Dornish spears that looked deadly sharp. Behind these three guards were the Princess and Prince themselves. Arianne Martell was beautiful, that much was evident to any fool. But her beauty was so exotic to many of the other nobles, that many Lords openly gaped as she walked by. If her beauty alone was not enough to draw the eye, the many colorful silks, necklaces and bracelets she wore was all in an effort to make her the center of attention. It was gaudy and extravagant, overdone in an effort to make a point. Robb glanced to his own Queen, whom he found even lovelier now in contrast to the Princess of Dorne. Margaery knew how to dress to complement her beauty in subtle and elegant ways. She was Queen after all, everything she wore was usually done for a purpose. Even on that day she wore a gown of a beautiful grey and glimmering blue that matched the sapphire stones set into the crown that Robb had bequeathed her as his Queen.

Quentyn Martell, in contrast to his sister, was almost entirely unremarkable, despite his Dornish heritage and the beauty of his sister. Quentyn was short like Arianne was, stocky in a manner that denoted him as a fighter, but beyond that he could have almost faded into the crowd. If Robb could note one thing about the very serious and dour boy standing in front of him, it was that he did not smile easily, even after Robb and Arianne had exchanged the expected courtesies.

"We are most honored to be here in the capital, Your Grace." Arianne smiled up at Robb, finding herself slightly jealous of Margaery Stark. She hadn't been told that Robb Stark was pretty. Pretty boys had ever been her weakness, particularly the ones who were dark and dangerous as well. And Robb Stark was all of that, an undefeated grim Northern warrior who claimed lives as easily as he had claimed the Iron Throne. But even now, Arianne could see the way he looked to his Queen who sat beside the Iron Throne in a seat of honor, Robb Stark was infatuated with his wife, and in Arianne's experience tampering with such things only got her in trouble. She would merely admire the pretty king from afar, she told herself as she and Quentyn kneeled before the Iron Throne to swear their fealty to the Young Wolf.

"You are most welcome here, Princess Arianne, Prince Quentyn. I have had fine chambers in the Maidenvault prepared for you both long ago, I am sure you will find them to your liking. While you are guests under my roof, I take you under my protection. It would be my pleasure for you both to join the Queen and I in taking supper this evening."

"You honor us, King Robb. My sister and I gladly accept." Quentyn responded, still feeling a sense of shame from kneeling to this Northerner who was only a few years older than he was. Quentyn had long desired to prove himself to Doran, especially when Doran once hinted that Quentyn might be Prince of Dorne. All that changed when Robb Stark took the Iron Throne, and Quentyn was expected to be resigned to his fate as a second child of House Martell. Quentyn however had other ideas.

* * *

 _ **Two Weeks Later...**_

* * *

"As you can see, Your Grace, they're all coming along to schedule despite the bad weather we had a couple o' weeks back." Davos Seaworth said proudly as he led his King and the Hand of the King along the pier to look at the ships being worked on in the dock and in Blackwater Bay.

"How many ships do we have in total now?" Robb asked the Onion Knight, turning to clasp his hands behind his back as he looked out at the new flagship that was nearing completion; _The Howl_ , a grand and sleek warship of a new and innovative design by Lord Davos himself. Though Davos was technically only a landed knight, his position as Master of Ships granted him the title of Lord, which had taken rather slowly as many people still referred to him as the Onion Knight.

"With the ships seized from Lord Stannis, the ones given to us by Lords Tyrell, Redwyne and Manderly as well as the ones we've nearly built…we have two hundred and ten ships, Your Grace." Davos reported proudly, looking from Robb and Jon out to _The Howl_ before grinning.

"She's a beauty, Your Grace. I know you'll love her when you sail her across the Narrow Sea." Davos grinned causing Jon to smile slightly as he stood silently beside Robb, his black bear fur cloak draped around his shoulders. Were it not for the white tunic he wore and the golden badge of office on his chest, Jon might have still looked like a man of the Night's Watch. But as he always told Robb, he looked better in black.

"I know I will too, Lord Davos. The ships have been organized as I've asked?"

"Aye. A third of them are being outfitted primarily for trade. You'll have the Braavosi jealous with what you're doing with their money." Davos chuckled as he, Jon and Robb turned on their heel to walk back along the dock towards the city.

"Oh if they only knew the half of it. If Lord Tyrion and I have made appropriate plans, the Iron Throne is about to make massive investments in a manner it's never done. Turning Westeros into a nation of trade will not be easy, but I believe it can be done." Robb sighed as the men jogged up the stone steps to be met with the Kingsguard and two of Davos's guards.

"As a past smuggler with much knowledge of the trade from the east…I think you're making smart moves that Kings should have done years ago. Don't doubt yourself, lad." Davos smiled before looking mortified "Gods, I apologize. I meant Your Grace." Davos bowed his head as Robb chuckled. The Young Wolf merely tilted his head to smile at the Onion Knight, he had long past the point of caring if he was called 'boy' or 'lad'.

"Fear not, my lord. A slip of the tongue." Robb said dismissively before moving to mount his destrier.

"You're going to need to be careful with that. Even your closest friends should know to respect you as King." Jon counseled to his brother as they rode back to the Red Keep slowly. Robb shot Jon a sharp look with a raised eyebrow.

"Does that mean I should have you flogged for the way you speak to me when we're drinking?" Robb asked with a bemused smile causing Jon to sigh and roll his eyes.

"Apologies, Your Grace…" Jon mumbled, holding his horse's reigns tighter as Robb laughed.

"You know, there wasn't much point in my giving you ten guards for your household if you don't use them." Robb said a little later, noting that Jon rode without escort.

"Easy. I have them searching for more recruits. I haven't been able to find a captain among them yet. Its not as easy for me, you with your Barristan Selmys and Garlan Tyrells. I'm left with three-fingered Garret who _can_ still hold a sword, I'll grant you…" Jon's rant only caused Robb to laugh again.

"You know we've still had no word from the Vale…" Jon sighed, causing Robb to sober up instantly.

"I know. I also know that the men I sent to the Eyrie are not enough. The eyes and ears I have in Aunt Lysa's court say that the Great Lords flee her side by moonlight and shadow, while the smaller lords hope to gain favor in the places they've vacated. The Royces are about to go to civil war over Runestone."

"What?" Jon asked in shock, looking over to Robb as they rode through the gates of the castle.

"After Lord Yohn sent his son to swear his allegiance, Lady Lysa granted dominion of Runestone to Nestor Royce. Nestor is said to be raising swords to siege the castle. The last thing we need right now is more bloodshed. The Vale should be gathering their harvest and preparing for the winter, not trying to annex itself. I have given my aunt more than ample time to swear her loyalty." Robb declared, dismounting his horse easily to hand the reigns over to his stablemaster. Jon joined him on the ground, pulling off his leather riding gloves as he looked at his brother warily.

"What are you saying?" Jon asked cautiously causing Robb to look up with his blue eyes burning.

"Aunt Lysa will submit. Or she will fall. Call a Small Council meeting for this evening. It is past time for the Vale to join the fold."

* * *

 _ **That Evening...**_

* * *

"The Bloody Gate is bloody impossible! Its not called that just for shits and giggles. I commanded the damn thing for my half my life, I _know_ this!" Lord Brynden Tully exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table after having been pinching the bridge of his nose for the better part of five minutes.

"I am sorry, Your Grace. An army can never take the Gate." Brynden declared with a note of finality, causing Robb to sigh as he paced before the Small Council table. All were in attendance except for Prince Oberyn Martell, who had returned to Sunspear with his prisoners; Gregor Clegane and Tywin Lannister. Robb had charged an additional ten guards to accompany Prince Oberyn and ensure that the Mountain was shackled and bound at all times. From left to right, Smalljon Umber sat in as Commander of the Grey Cloaks, Dacey Mormont sat in as Field General of the Royal Army, Brynden Tully sat in as Master of War, Willas Tyrell sat in as Master of Laws, Ser Barristan as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Margaery of course sat in as Queen, Jon Stark as Hand of the King, Varys as Master of Whisperers, Tyrion Lannister as Master of Coin and Davos Seaworth as Master of Ships.

"The Eyrie is impregnable. It was _built_ to be impregnable. If we wish to bring Lysa Arryn either into the fold or down to the dirt, we have no way of doing so if she decides to hole up in her castle, and this is even assuming we can get to the gates." Dacey Mormont counseled her friend and King as Robb paced thoughtfully.

"My love, sending an army to the Vale would be a waste of your strength and of your time. A number of the Vale Houses have already declared for you, and the list still grows as they realize Lysa will lead them to nowhere but death." Margaery sat forward, her golden brown eyes locking with Robb's for a moment.

"I don't deny that you are all right, but I still cannot allow the Vale to remain unchecked. How many Houses have declared for us so far?"

"Over a third of the Vale's Houses, Your Grace and well-near half its strength. But still yet treachery lurks even amongst those numbers. The Corbrays, Lynderlys and the Royces of the Gates of the Moon wish only to serve themselves. Except for Ser Lyn Corbray, who seems to have a rather…vigorous passion to cause strife for you personally, my king." Varys reported with a bow of his head.

"Only the knights of the Vale know how to conquer the Vale…" Robb said thoughtfully.

"Your Grace…if I may interject for a moment?" every eye in the room turned to Tyrion Lannister who offered them a wry smile before turning his mismatched gaze back to Robb.

"When your dear mother took me captive in the Riverlands, she took me to the Eyrie for trial. My man, Bronn, is capable of feats that most of us here call impossible. He said to me himself that he could infiltrate the Eyrie with the right equipment and the right men. I urge you to consider it."

"An up jumped cutthroat." Ser Barristan scoffed derisively causing Tyrion to grimace.

"Yes, but a _skilled_ one. Cutthroats have their place in this world, Your Grace." Tyrion directed his words to Robb rather than the White Cloak.

"For my own aunt? No. If your man can do this, I wish for no blood to be shed. Only for Aunt Lysa to be taken captive." Robb said thoughtfully as he continued to pace.

"Of course." Tyrion said with a nod.

"Very well. I charge this Bronn into Lady Dacey's service for the duration of his mission. He'll need a distraction, an Eyrie with a small garrison." Robb mused thoughtfully. "Which is why I want ravens to fly to every loyal Vale House at once, instructing them to declare their loyalty by marching on the Eyrie. Half of the Arryn's guard at the moment is made up of sons from other Houses, if their fathers and brothers are marching on them, I hope they would rather join them than fight them. Lady Lysa, foolish as she is, will send all of her knights out to face the threat, but will keep a healthy contingent to protect herself and Lord Robert…"

"Your Grace, I must protest. How can we trust this cutthroat?" Brynden Tully asked. He knew Lysa's mind was far afield but she was still his sweet little niece who had sat on his lap and read the songs of old when she was growing up. She still took him into her service when Hoster banished him. He could not turn his back on Lysa entirely.

"We can't. But if there's one thing sellswords like more than blood, its gold. If your man comes through on this, I will give him a knighthood as well as a hundred acres of land. On the condition that my aunt and my cousin are not harmed." Robb said to Tyrion, his voice hard with the cold sternness of a Stark.

"I believe Bronn will deliver them to you on velvet pillows if you promise him that." Tyrion smirked, before nodding his head at Robb's order.

"It shall be done."

"Good. Lord Varys, I want you to have word spread to the Vale that I am calling in the army that rode with me during the war, a hundred and thirty thousand strong to surround and march into the Vale. Have word reach the Eyrie that I am sending my full fleet of two-hundred-ships to the coast."

"Your Grace?" Dacey Mormont asked with concern as Robb stopped pacing to face his Council.

"I have no intention of calling the banners again until the Long Night is upon us. But the fear of our undefeated army marching into the Vale will force many of those considering their loyalties to make a timely decision. Lady Lysa will act in great fear at the numbers she faces, she will make rash decisions that we can use to our advantage. You are all correct, there is no logic in wasting our strength against Lysa…but that doesn't mean that Lysa cannot think the opposite." Robb smiled, causing some of the Council to grin.

"If that isn't one of the more devious things I've heard you say, Your Grace." Dacey grinned at Robb, who merely bowed his head.

* * *

 _ **Simultaneously...**_

* * *

Five hundred leagues to the North of King's Landing was a party of about thirty mounted men flying the banners of King Robb Stark. All the men were armored in either the grey chainmail and breastplate or boiled brown leather of the Stark army, all except one man who was shackled and gagged in the middle of the riding party. His hair was longer and incredibly filthy, a wild beard grew untamed from his unwashed cheeks, and the clothes that he had been given were nothing like the fine silks and velvets he was used to all his life. Ser Jaime Lannister shook his greasy, matted blonde hair from his eyes to sigh as the Stark men began yet another rousing rendition of _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_. The party had one clear purpose, escort Jaime Lannister to the Wall and see him take his vows before Lord Commander Donal Noye.

Jaime however was no-longer the man he had been a year ago. His ego destroyed by being defeated and imprisoned by _Robb Stark_ had been humiliating on its own. But then to see his House, his family fall to join him in the dirty one-by-one had been enough to drive the Kingslayer half-mad. The lion did not fall, that was the entire foundation of his childhood, that was the basis of his core beliefs. He was untouchable, they were _all_ untouchable.

Until he saw his battered and bloodied father being thrown into the cell with him. Not just any cell, a dungeon cell at Casterly fucking Rock of all places. Jaime's own home. His castle. It did not occur to Jaime that he would have done much worse to Robb Stark had he been given the chance, all he saw was how he had been slighted by the Young Wolf. He hadn't even seen Cersei since he fled King's Landing after dueling Ned Stark in the streets. That was what hurt him most…he missed her more than he could ever truly express to anyone. Not that anyone cared about him enough to listen anymore. His words had once been as valuable as gold, now he was one of the most hated men in Westeros. Well…he was always hated, but now he didn't have the luxuries of being feared and rich behind him as well.

Jaime bowed his head, dreading the idea of what awaited him at the end of this journey; a cold and miserable life on the Wal-…

 _Schik._ It was the unmistakable sound of an arrow piercing flesh that caused him to whip his head up in time to see the Stark soldier in front of him fall off his horse after an arrow pierced his throat.

"TO ARMS!" The Commander of the party roared, but by then it was far too late. They had traveled between two high hills, and from above them the arrows rained with a bloodthirsty vengeance. Jaime expected himself to be hit by one at any moment, but was surprised with the efficiency at which the arrows managed to avoid him…as though he were not a target at all.

The same could not be said for the Stark soldiers who were being quickly overwhelmed by a small force of beserking infantry that ambushed them from the south as arrows continued to fall from the skies as though the Gods themselves had opened the clouds. When the Commander of the Stark soldiers was the last one alive, he honorably picked up his sword to continue fighting despite the four arrows that pierced his back. The belligerent attackers had no mercy for him, as they grouped the brave man to brutalize him with their weapons. His screams faded to gurgles to nothing, before finally one of the men turned to Jaime Lannister, still bound and gagged on the horse and looking completely bewildered at the slaughter that had just taken place around him. Now that the excitement had ended, Jaime could see these attackers were all wearing a uniform armor. Lannister armor. Scratched, faded and definitely needing some maintenance, but Jaime knew the armor of his father's army since he was a boy. His confusion only grew when the man who turned to face him helped Jaime of the horse and removed his gag.

"What the fuck?" Jaime exclaimed, before the man kneeled before Jaime, along with his comrades.

"Lord Jaime." They chorused quietly, causing Jaime to raise an eyebrow as he looked around at the Lannister soldiers who were descending the hill or coming out of their cover to kneel before Jaime as though he were their messiah.

* * *

 _ **Several Weeks Ago...  
(One Month After the Royal Wedding)**_

* * *

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come…"

"You came here as a traitor, a murderer and rebel. Rise now…as a man of the Night's Watch, Stannis Baratheon." One-armed Donal Noye grunted as he stood above the man whose first sword he had forged. Stannis, now dressed in black chainmail and a heavy black fur cloak tilted his head up to gaze at Donal Noye as a heavy snow dusted his head and shoulders. Stannis swallowed away a thickness in his throat, the shame of failure and defeat, the duty that had led him to this place had long since been forgotten, all he remembered was Renly as he accepted Donal Noye's only hand to rise from the snow. Stannis had arrived to Castle Black two weeks after the royal wedding as a broken man. Donal Noye had slapped him back into shape as he had done so many times in Stannis's youth. What was done could never be undone, Stannis would remain a kinslayer for all his life, but at least he could use the rest of that life to protect the realms from true evil.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: So A LOT of time skipping, which just needed to happen, but also detailing what was going down in the two month skip from the last chapter :)**_

 _ **Next chapter will most likely be a short one, but also probably very sweet if all goes well :D**_

 _ **PLEASE REVIEW xoxo**_


	14. Chapter 14 - Grand Maester Rickard

_**Author's Note: This is something short, but I hope you enjoy and leave a review :) Also I pictured Pierce Brosnan as Rickard if that helps anyone.**_

* * *

"My word…" breathed the handsome middle-aged man mounted atop an equally handsome brown palfrey, looking out to the city of King's Landing from a high hill some three miles to the southwest. The man had dark brown hair that was slowly turning a steel grey that served to only make him look more distinguished, he had a piercing but warm dark brown gaze and was clad in an elegantly tailored set of Maester's robes. Around his neck were many links of black iron, bronze, copper, brass, platinum, gold, red gold, pewter, steel, electrum, lead, tin, iron, silver and Valyrian steel. This man was known as Rickard, once of the masterly House Holt of White Harbor. A third-born son from a second wife to Elbert Holt, sworn bannerman to House Manderly, Rickard had been sent to the Citadel at the age of 7, where he had become an accomplished student. His great interests had always been in medicinal care, histories and warfare, and his time at the Citadel had allowed him to explore other subjects. When the War of the Five Kings broke out, Maester Rickard had smuggled himself from the Citadel to White Harbor, where he joined House Manderly's retinue as a Maester attending to the injured. His skills and expertise had been so valued that Lord Wyman had eventually named him to his own council, despite the fact that Wyman had a Maester of his own; Theomore once of House Lannister.

When Pycelle had been stripped of his chain and sent to the Black Cells by order of King Robb Stark, the Conclave called in all available Maesters to elect a new Grand Maester. The voting had taken a grueling three days, with over eighty Maesters being nominated for the position. On the third day, Rickard had been elected by unanimous decision. His Northern heritage, amiable nature, political connections to powerful Northern Houses and his great expertise in many subjects had worked in his favor to be appointed to the Northern court (his unyielding loyalty to the Citadel also didn't hurt).

Grand Maester Rickard, as he was now known, was being escorted to the capital by a contingent of soldiers from House Hightower. It had been just over two months since the Wolf King had claimed the Iron Throne, and in those two months he had no learned counsel by his side, something that had troubled the Conclave greatly. Rickard himself had no idea of what was to await him in the capital. He had only met the Young Wolf once, and briefly. He had been one of the four Maesters sent to attend the King after Roose Bolton had stabbed him in the chest, he doubted King Robb even remembered him as he and the Hightower soldiers marched through the River Gate of the city, which had by now been rebuilt after its destruction during the Siege of King's Landing, and additionally fortified by the builders the King and Queen had commissioned. He saw the banners of House Stark hanging from the newly cleaned parapets with pride. Rickard had heard much tale of the city, of putrid smells, a dirty and angry populace, of corruption and deceit. But as he rode through the city, he did not smell the shit and piss that King's Landing was once infamous for, he smelled baking bread from the bakers, hot coals from the smiths, spices from the traders, as well as the smells of new construction coming in from the work on the ruined parts of the city.

He saw noble-looking strong men in grey cloaks that were trimmed with a stripe of white and a stripe of pale green, grey chainmail and great steel breastplates that were embossed with the crowned direwolf's sigil of the King. The new Grey Cloaks that everyone had heard so much about were a strong presence in the city, and unlike their corrupt and cruel predecessors, the Grey Cloaks were beloved by the people. The men of the City Watch assisted their citizen with all the issues they could, at the urging of Commander Smalljon Umber.

The people themselves looked happier and healthier than what Rickard had been expecting, but as he got closer to the castle, he noticed more nobles and more members of the royal household bearing expressions of deep concern. He rode past groups of highborn ladies who had their heads together in hushed conversation, raising his eyebrow in curiosity until he was finally marching through the open gates of the Red Keep. A small welcome party was waiting for Rickard in the courtyard, he only knew some of the men by their reputation such as Tyrion Lannister and Lord Varys. He did not recognize the young grim-looking man who approached him as he dismounted his palfrey.

"Grand Maester Rickard. Well met, ser. I am the King's Hand, Jon Stark." The dark-haired young man shook Rickard's hand after the Maester bowed. He had been told that the King had named a brother of his to the position of Hand, but he had not been expecting someone so… _young_.

"His Grace, King Robb welcomes you to the capital in his name. He wished to be here to welcome you himself…but a rather dire issue has taken his attention. One we all hope you can assist with, now that you have arrived." Jon Stark explained to the Grand Maester, who nodded understandingly.

"You will need your tools and your kit, Grand Maester." Tyrion Lannister advised of Rickard, who furrowed his brow in momentary concern before silently collecting his bag from the satchel of his horse.

"The King will be most grateful for your service, Grand Maester." Jon assured him as they left the horses and soldiers to be attended to by Leo Tyrell, the King's Steward. Tyrion, Varys, Jon and Rickard walked through the courtyard in the direction of Maegor's Holdfast along with a small retinue of Jon's guards and Tyrion's sellsword Bronn.

"It would of course be my duty and honor, my Lord Hand. What has happened?" Rickard inquired, feeling somewhat weary from his long ride, but also greatly curious as to what had befallen the Red Keep.

"The Queen has taken ill these past several days. She is bedridden, and our noble King is by her bedside stricken with worry. We have had the Maesters who are present in the capital attend to her, but none seem able to diagnose her condition. They are all camp Maesters with more experience in injuries of war than ailments and illnesses." Lord Varys explained as the small group of men walked across the drawbridge of Maegor's Holdfast. The Spider's words silenced the group for a moment as they ascended the steps of the Holdfast to approach the royal bedchambers. Two strapping men in the white-scaled armor of the Kingsguard stood vigil outside the doors. They inclined their heads to the members of the Small Council, before one of them moved to knock on the door.

"The Hand comes with the Small Council, Your Grace." Ser Raynald Westerling called through the door, receiving only a one-worded reply from the King.

"You may enter." Ser Raynald told them as he opened the doors to allow the four men into the room.

"Gods, I am not some oddity for everyone to stare at…" came a weary, gentle voice from beneath many furs on the royal four poster bed. Rickard could only see a mess of curly dark brown hair poking out from under the furs before his attention was drawn to the young man who had stood to approach him. Rickard bowed at once upon seeing the Wolf King.

"Your Grace, I am here to serve. My name is-." Rickard began to introduce himself before the Young Wolf cut him off.

"Rickard. I remember you. You were the first to tend to me in the North after Roose Bolton stabbed me. I-…I believe the Conclave made a fine choice." Robb said with a weary smile, Rickard could see that the lad was exhausted and seemingly at his wit's end.

"My lords, you may leave us." The King turned a blue-eyed gaze to the other three men to dismiss them, before returning to a chair he had dragged to the bedside of the lump hiding under the furs. It wasn't until the door shut that Queen Margaery Stark threw the furs off her body to lean over the bed and retch into a pail that Robb had put out for her. The King himself instantly rose to hold his wife's hair back and rub her back in soothing motions before looking up Rickard with clear desperation in his blue-eyed gaze.

"She's been sick for almost two weeks now." The King said as the Queen painfully groaned to lie back in her bed. Robb offered her a new wet towel to clean her face with as he looked back to Rickard.

"If I may be so bold, would you stand aside, Your Grace, so I might examine the Queen?" Rickard asked, causing Robb to glance at an irritable Margaery who merely shrugged as she laid on her side facing Robb. The worried young man rose at once to allow Rickard to approach Margaery's side. The Grand Maester's kind and warm bedside manner eased Margaery's apprehension as Rickard first introduced himself and asked Margaery a few disarming questions about herself. It wasn't until Rickard had Margaery smiling that he begin to ask her about her condition.

"So when did this start exactly?" Rickard asked of the Queen as he helped the beautiful young woman to her feet whilst the King stood behind them with his arms folded, worriedly chewing his bottom lip.

"As Robb said, Grand Maester-."

"Please, call me Rickard." The older man smiled gently as Margaery, dressed in a nightgown, eased herself to sit on a stool at the end of the bed.

"Alright," Margaery chuckled "As he said, two weeks ago. I remember it vividly for I woke in the night feeling as though winter itself had come into our chambers, despite the fact I was covered in many furs and Robb was beside me. I also needed to badly-…uh…relieve myself…" Margaery said, her cheeks tinting pink as Rickard merely smiled and gestured for her to continue as he opened his bag of supplies.

"I could not return to sleep that night due to feeling extremely ill, when morning came it proved too much and I unfortunately woke the King by retching into one of the vases…" Margaery explained, glancing to Robb with a slight chuckle as she recounted that early morning.

"It passed soon after, and I thought nothing more of it until the late afternoon when it happened again. By then I had begun to feel extremely tired, and my body ached terribly." Margaery sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she spoke. Rickard meanwhile marveled at the idiocy of the medical men who had attended the Queen before his arrival, it was obvious to him what the Queen likely suffered from and she had yet to give him true confirmation.

"My Queen…if I may ask…was this pain and aching primarily located in your-…ahem-…chest area?" Rickard asked, causing Margaery and Robb to both laugh before Margaery nodded.

"Yes, actually. Mostly my-…erm-." Margaery trailed off, gesturing her hand vaguely to her breasts, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be talking to this stranger of such intimate matters, despite the fact he was a trained Maester.

"If I may pause for a moment, Your Grace, Your Grace… I am a man of healing and I believe that now I am your Grand Maester, I will be serving you both in this intimate regard for many years to come. Please do not feel shame in speaking truthfully to me, I have seen it all as they say." Rickard chuckled, causing Margaery to sigh and nod slightly. He had a point, she could not deny, but she still did not feel instantly urged to open up to him.

"It is true, mostly my breasts have been feeling increasingly tender and painful. I feel like I've had to use the privy so often in the last week, I should be nothing but skin and bone. I thought I'd caught the plague for the first week and a half, but Robb seemed fine as did everyone else near me." Margaery said, looking from Robb back to Rickard who had a growing smile on his face.

"And you've been sleeping much more, I assume?"

"Of course, I feel-…why are you smiling?" Margaery demanded, her brow furrowing angrily. She had taken well to this man at first, but if he kept smiling at the pain she was going through the way he was, she would not hesitate to send him away.

"And has she been also having…shall we say _volatile_ mood swings? Sad one moment, laughing or furious the next?" Rickard asked, turning to Robb whose eyes widened in confusion as he slowly nodded back. Rickard chuckled before rising from where he was kneeling before the Queen.

"Your Grace, I believe I know what ails you. But I need only confirm two more things, would you rise for me?" Rickard smiled, offering Margaery his hand. The Queen still looked irritated by his smile, but rose out of curiosity, accepting his hand to stand.

"I am just going to place my hands upon your abdomen for a moment." Rickard told Margaery, who nodded her consent before the man gently assessed her belly. With a grin, he pulled back to ask her one last question.

"And my Queen, if I may ask, when was the last time you bled?" Rickard's question caused Robb to whip his head up as Margaery too dropped her jaw.

"I-…I-… _what_?" Margaery Stark looked utterly dumbfounded as the realization that she had not had her moon's blood in over two months sank in. "I…I don't-…what does-… _what_?!" Margaery, an intelligent and sharp-tongued young woman could only mumble nonsensically whilst her husband remained frozen, staring at Margaery with wide eyes and his arms folded, his face unreadable.

"My King, my Queen…it is my honor to tell you that you are carrying children." Rickard beamed, standing back to clasp his hands in front of him. He had been worried that his first act in King's Landing would have been diagnosing the Queen with a horrid illness, instead his first act had been to announce new life. It was a beautiful for moment for him, complemented by his amusement at the young royal couple's reactions.

"Chi-..child-… _what_?" Margaery asked with a little shake of her head, as though she could not understand what the Grand Maester was saying.

"You are pregnant, Your Grace." Rickard repeated with a small incline of his head, before turning up to Robb who was still staring at the spot where Margaery had been.

"Robb…" the Queen said cautiously as she approached her husband, placing a hand on her husband's folded arms, causing him to snap back to reality and look down into her golden brown eyes with his own vivid blue.

"Are you-…is this-…does this make you happy?" she asked quietly, causing the usually stoic and reserved Robb of the House Stark to break into a joyful gale of laughter as he embraced his wife passionately. Margaery herself laughed as Robb all but lifted her off her feet before kissing him gently. She could not yet comprehend that she was… _pregnant_. She knew that she and Robb wanted children, they _needed_ an heir after all. But…so soon? And-…hold on…

"Hold on." Margaery said, bringing pause to their celebration, turning to look from her husband to the Grand Maester.

"You said _children_. Don't you mean child?" Margaery inquired, trying not to gulp as her heart rate accelerated slightly.

"No. I meant children," Rickard smile "From the way you're carrying at this early stage, my Queen, it appears to be twins."

Robb Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, an undefeated warrior and hardened man of war had his eyes roll to the back of his head as he crumpled to the ground in shock. His wife merely started to laugh in a slightly hysterical fashion.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Yay! So, something short and sweet for Robb and Margaery and introducing the new Grand Maester :)**_

 ** _Also I know that I probably wasn't medically accurate with this, but I also didn't quite understand how a Maester could determine if Walda Bolton was carrying a boy in the show, so I may have taken some liberties with pregnancy diagnosis in Westeros for the sake of the story. But hey, if a dragon can be born and ice-zombies walk the land, why can't the Maesters be able to tell if you're carrying twins? Also apologies if I inaccurately depicted the symptoms of pregnancy, I have had no first-hand knowledge on the matter._**

 ** _Please do leave a review! I love reading them, its like fuel for the words to come to me :D_**


	15. Chapter 15 - Planetos

_**Author's Note: Apologies for the long absence, I've been a terrible combination of super busy, super sick and also fighting writer's block. So today I sat down and told myself to bang this chapter out. Hope you enjoy it, and of course leave a review! :)**_

* * *

Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had always been better maintained than Castle Black and the Shadow Tower during the days of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. Not only did trading ships from across the Narrow Sea find their way to dock on Eastwatch's ironwood pier, but Cotter Pyke had also always maintained friendly trade relations with the wildlings, allowing the castle to have enough supplies to be well-fortified and well-manned. Since Robb Stark had brought about a tenuous peace between the free folk and the Night's Watch, the black brothers had almost tripled in size with free men and prisoners from the War of the Five Kings having taken the oath. Almost three-thousand-men the Night's Watch had now, with many trained and seasoned warriors from the war lending their expertise to train the others for the coming battle. Donal Noye, the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had put his new influx of men to good use, garrisoning many of the abandoned castles along the Wall and seeing that they were restored to working state. This meant that Eastwatch was by now operating in its finest state since it was first built, with Greenguard and the Torches visibly in use to the west.

North of the Wall, the army of free folk united by Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, had established many settlements in the empty spans of land between the Wall and the forest. It was Mance Rayder keeping the peace, his iron-fisted rule ensuring that the free folk adhered to the terms of a revolutionary treaty signed between the Night's Watch and the Wildling Army. Some few hundred had already bent the knee to Donal Noye, studying the ways of living in Westeros before settling in the lands of the Gift under strict oversight by the Night's Watch and House Umber, whose lands directly bordered The Gift and the New Gift. There had obviously been some dissenters amongst the wildlings, but Mance and the united Night's Watch had been swift to put down the rebels. Many of the new black brothers were from the south, and had never experienced the raids of wildlings, and because they harbored no former ill will to the wildling people as a whole, friendship was a possibility in the far future. Meaning that when Brandon Stark, Jojen Reed, Meera Reed, Hodor and their four surviving guards trekked their way out of the forest and into the settlement of the Thenns, they were given slightly hostile eyes but were allowed to pass freely towards the Wall and towards Eastwatch. The horses that Bran's elder brother had given to the party had long since perished, so the young crippled teenager was strapped to Hodor's back. Though the direwolf banner that the Stark guard Tomas carried was frayed and slightly ripped, the wildlings knew enough to stay away from the small haggard party, out of fear for what Mance Rayder would do to them rather than out of genuine courtesy, despite the more disciplined nature of the Thenns in contrast to other wildlings. Jojen and Bran had seen that the direwolf flag would ensure their safe passage, little of what the two young lads said or did from that point was by chance. Bran had not been away long enough to truly learn everything he could have from the body that was once Brynden Rivers, but he had learned enough to be able to continue his training from another destination. Brynden Rivers had transformed into something that was beyond corporeal form, and the body that was entwined in the roots of the First Weirwood was a vessel for him and the Old Gods. It was a Voice. The tree that Bran and Jojen had discovered was the original weirwood, the strongest in all of Westeros, and it was in that cave that the power and magic of the Old Gods was the strongest. It was enough to activate Bran's gifts, enough to teach him how to connect with the Gods in the south.

Bran, Jojen and the Voice had all seen what folly Bran's brother Robb was causing by delaying his trip to Essos. The longer Robb stayed playing the Game of Thrones in Westeros, the less likely Daenerys Targaryen was to join their cause. Bran had little choice but to leave after the Voice had shown Bran the possible dire consequences of Robb's actions. The younger Stark had tried in vain to contact Robb in his dreams, but he had never been able to catch Robb dozing with Grey-Wind by his side, for Robb still lacked the understanding of how to unlock the gifts of skinchanging that Bran would soon teach him and his other siblings. The Lord of Winterfell knew that in matters of honor, he had no place to be as angry as he was with his elder brother and King, but honor mattered little when Robb threatened to lead them all into the Long Night and failure. The tunnel of Eastwatch was open and guarded by four men of the Night's Watch each on both sides of the Wall. The black brothers recognized the direwolf banner instantly, and it wasn't long that Bran and his group were lingering in the courtyard of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea before the black cloaked Cotter Pyke was hurrying towards him.

"Lord Stark!" Cotter exclaimed as he reached them, bowing hurriedly after he spoke "M'lord…we had not expected you…" Cotter said with great confusion, looking from the crippled lordling to his travelworn companions. Very few on the Wall had known of Bran's journey Beyond-the-Wall, and Robb and Bran had wished to keep it that way.

"You know me, ser?" Bran asked Cotter Pyke curiously as he tried to sit up in his harness.

"Of course, my lord. Bran the Brok-…Fuck…" Cotter Pyke had spoken without thinking, and when he realized what he began to say, he closed his eyes at his own stupidity and cursed. Bran flushed slightly, still shamed by the loss of his legs despite the power he had gained over the last few months. Bran clenched his jaw, choosing to move past the tense moment rather than linger upon it.

"I am the Lord of Winterfell, and the Lord Paramount of the North, are you aware of this?"

"Yes, m'lord. Your royal brother's decree has reached all corners of the North. The harvest has been-."

"In earnest. I know." Bran said dismissively before pressing on. "I need two things from you, ser. I need a raven sent to Winterfell and to King's Landing."

"Done, my lord. Our Maester will-."

"The second thing is a ship. A strong one to get me and my friends to King's Landing." Bran cut off Cotter Pyke as he had turned to gesture to Eastwatch's Maester, causing the commander of the castle to turn with a look of shock upon his grizzled, salt-scrubbed features.

* * *

 ** _"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_** An unworldly, horrifying scream of terrible agony all but shook the foundations of the Old Palace of Sunspear, where in the darkest, deepest dungeon Prince Oberyn Martell stepped away from the rack that Gregor Clegane was shackled to with many, many chains. The Mountain was covered in not only a greasy sheen of sweat, but many sizzling splotches all over his torso that were burning through his skin, his flesh and muscle.

"The Boltons, they like to cut the skin. Or they did, I hear." Oberyn Martell said, as he walked back to observe the small blade he had used to add yet another poisoned wound to the man who raped and killed his sister. Oberyn and Gregor were not alone in the room, with a bound and gagged Tywin Lannister being forced to watch as he sat beside a bemused Prince Doran. Areo Hotah, Doran's Captain of the Guard was also in the dungeon with several of his men to ensure the Princes remained safe.

"The skin though, it reacts so well to certain poisons. Like the manticore venom currently burning through every inch of you." Oberyn said, leaning in to hover just out of Gregor's reach, grinning down at the Mountain sadistically.

"Elia. Martell." Oberyn said for what must have been the thousandth time into Gregor Clegane's ear. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children. Elia of Dorne. Say. Her. Name." Oberyn hissed before slashing his dagger across one of the Mountain's massive pectoral muscles, causing him to scream yet again as the flesh around the wound began to instantly sizzle and steam as though it was burning from fire.

"If you die before you say her name, ser. I shall hunt you through all seven hells." Oberyn promised him as he retreated back to stand beside Prince Doran and wipe his hands on a clean rag.

"Stop playing with your food, Oberyn." Doran commented to his younger brother, looking at Gregor Clegane with a dark coldness in his eyes.

" _ELIA MARTELL_!" came a deep gurgled howl from the torture rack as the Mountain viciously struggled against his binds. Oberyn whipped around, grinning maniacally even as some of the chains around the Mountain snapped.

"Who gave you the order?" Oberyn demanded, striding forward to take a Dornish spear that was tipped with a massive poisoned cleaver. Gregor Clegane merely spat blood and phlegm at Oberyn, who smirked at the glob of yellow and red on his chest before lithely spinning his spear to bring it down with a sudden swish and hack on Gregor Clegane's wrist, severing the Mountain's sword hand from his forearm.

Tywin Lannister could only close his eyes as his mad dog, his strongest soldier, and one of the worst men in Westeros was taken apart by the Martells. He could only listen as Gregor told Oberyn and Doran all they wanted to hear, of how Tywin had ordered the deaths of Rhaenys and Aegon. But even though he never said a word about Elia, the confession was damning enough. Tywin, for all his work, for all his efforts and power would face a fate worse than death. Worse than what he had subjected the Targaryen children to, and he knew that as Oberyn walked from the body of Gregor Clegane to smirk sadistically down at Tywin Lannister.

"Enough for today, Oberyn." Doran ordered, waving his hand to Areo who stood to attention before pushing the Prince's wheelchair out of the dungeon and leaving Oberyn alone with Tywin and Gregor's writhing body.

"He has…succumbed to his shock, you see." Oberyn explained as he hunkered down on his haunches beside Tywin's chair.

"His body…it still feels everything, he may dream…but it would be _nightmares_. If he wakes…the pain will be…well…indescribable really. Why don't I leave you here to see if he wakes or not, so you can describe it to me later, hm?" Oberyn rose to pat Tywin's shoulder once, walking out with the remaining guards, leaving Tywin's gag and shackles in place.

* * *

A foreigner could have been forgiven for thinking the city of King's Landing had gone mad, for in every corner of the city the citizens were celebrating the joyous news that Queen Margaery was with child. The city was radiating with aura of happiness and peace that it had almost never known under the Targaryens. In the Sept of Baelor, the King, the Queen and their court were gathered in the very hall that Robb and Margaery had wedded in as the Faith conducted a special sermon praying for the robust health of the expected royal twins. King Robb's excitement at the news was easy to spot from a mile away. Even Queen Margaery's joy was evident, even if she was better skilled than her King in the arts of subtlety. They stood together, hand-in-hand, at the front of the grand hall as the High Septon began to conclude his prayers.

"… _may the Warrior grant our heir the courage and valor to wield King Robb's sword, may the Maiden grant our heir Queen Margaery's gentle heart, may the Crone grant our heir the wisdom of good governance, and may the Stranger be gentle when it thrusts our heir into the unknown. In the light of the seven, may the children of House Stark of King's Landing be ever blessed!"_ The High Septon called out, causing Margaery and Robb to exchange a small smile.

The nobility of King's Landing were later invited for a small gathering in the Queen's Ballroom later that day, where the King and Queen were flocked by well-wishers, watched on by Jon Stark, the Hand of the King from the corner of the room. Jon and Robb made eye-contact, where the King gave his brother a momentary wide-eyed glance that Jon understood as a desperate plea for help, but the Hand of the King merely grinned and raised his goblet to Robb, who Jon knew would certainly get him back later. Jon just began to take a drink when he noticed someone had crept to his side, Arianne Martell had a knack for causing Jon Stark to act like a half-wit. He practically choked on his wine when he saw that Arianne was beside him, causing the buxom beauty of Dorne to give Jon a dazzling grin.

"Perhaps you should try some Dornish red, my lord Hand. I feel that you might… _enjoy the taste_." Arianne smiled, tracing her finger around the rim of her goblet. Jon clenched his jaw while simultaneously swallowing the dryness away in his throat. Arianne Martell had been at first put out when she realized that the pretty, dangerous Wolf King was out of her reach, but when she saw his brother, the Hand…her spirits had soared ever higher. Jon Stark was a brooding, beautiful specimen and the power and authority he wielded with skill had instantly attracted Arianne to bring him into her service, however when he proved to be a steadfastly loyal brother to Robb Stark she had been even more intrigued by him. Jon was either naively unaware of her advances, or had the strongest resolve in the Seven Kingdoms. Arianne was leaning towards the latter, and greatly looked forward to breaking that resolve.

"Perhaps I shall, Princess. Thank you." Jon said slightly gruffly to Arianne, who took on a faux-expression of hurt that caused Jon to back peddle quickly.

"I apologize for my tone…it's been a long day."

"You can make it up to me by sharing a dance with me." Arianne smiled, causing Jon to genuinely laugh.

"That would not be an apology, my Princess. It would be an insult…I am no dancer." Jon insisted.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true, my lord. I can tell you have a few moves I'd love to see." Arianne grinned "Come, I refuse to take no for an answer until I see this offensive dancing." Arianne grinned, taking Jon's goblet from his hand and placing it down before looping his arm around hers and walking to the dance floor where a few couples were dancing to the minstrels. Jon Stark made eye-contact with Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont as Arianne dragged him to the floor, both of whom grinned and raised their thumbs to the clearly uncomfortable Hand. The usually fair-skinned Jon flushed as he and Arianne placed their hands upon one another. Did all Dornish women smell so good? Jon cursed himself for thinking that, and for failing to avoid her piercing gaze as they danced.

"I knew you'd surprise me, my lord." Arianne said quietly as they gracefully moved together, much to even Jon's surprise.

* * *

"Oh look, Jon and the Martell girl at it again." Robb sighed as he and Margaery had a rare moment of peace, he shook his head before raising his goblet of water to his lips.

"It's not necessarily a bad thing, my love." Margaery said, running a hand through the back of Robb's hair affectionately before taking his goblet from him to take a sip herself.

"Why not? If Jon does to Arianne Martell what he did with his wildling girl, Dorne will take it as an insult."

"Oh please. Arianne's fucked half of Dorne from what I've heard." Margaery scoffed before looking surprised with herself "That was mean. I'm never usually that mean…" she said, looking back up to Robb who chuckled.

"Pregnancy behavior, I suppose? And I'm sure its not _half of Dorne_." Robb laughed, placing his arm around his wife's waist.

"No, it's not. But I did hear that her father caught her once and did nothing, a rumor in Highgarden."

"You know I take no stock in rumors, Margaery."

"I know, but you shouldn't worry about Jon and Arianne falling into bed. You should encourage it. If we want Dorne back in the fold, there's only one sure way to ensure it for generations to come." Margaery said, looking up at Robb who looked confused for a millisecond before he realized what Margaery was saying.

"Marriage."

"Marriage. He's a Stark now, your brother, your Hand. Should they marry soon, the Martells will revel in the momentary power."

"But what about after…? You know after the Long Night, Jon and I have agreed he will resign the Hand's office, and after Rickon is of age, so too will he resign the commission of the Warden of the North."

"The Martells don't need to know that, and even then it is not as though Jon will not have power and influence. You love your family too much to not let that happen. He would make a fine consort for the Princess of Dorne, and their children would be half-Stark. They'd be cousins to Willas and Sansa's children. Think of the peace that Dorne and the Reach would have." Margaery glanced over to Jon and Arianne who were laughing as they danced together.

"Gods, you're brilliant aren't you." Robb said, ever-impressed by the political brilliance of his Queen.

"Yes. That's why you love me, but that's besides the point. Jon needs to stop playing so hard-to-get, it's only driving her crazier." Margaery's words were quick and sharp and caused Robb to laugh again.

"That's childish."

"Oh please, like the fact we couldn't be together at first didn't make us want each other all the more."

"You're very sassy when you're pregnant…"

"I'm sassy always, husband dear, I'm just sharper when I'm pregnant." Margaery leaned in to kiss Robb lovingly, before returning to lean her head on his shoulder.

"I need to pee." She sighed.

"Come on then." Robb chuckled.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't wish to dance, my lady?" Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden and Master of Laws asked his betrothed Princess Sansa Stark as the two sat at the high table together holding hands.

"I am most certain, my lord. I much prefer your company here, perhaps later when Ser Garlan has a moment I shall ask him." Sansa assured her thoughtful betrothed with a smile. Willas in turn could only marvel at Sansa's courtesy, and the confidence she was starting to show once more.

"I had something I wished to ask you, Sansa, of Sandor Clegane?" Willas's words caused Sansa to stiffen for a moment before turning to hold Willas's gaze.

"Yes?"

"I am told that he asked to stay in your service as a sworn shield and you wanted the same, but the King felt it better for him to return to Clegane's Keep to settle his lands first. Is-…I just wonder-…Is there-…?"

"Nothing happened between us, Will, I assure you." Sansa squeezed his hand, before sighing "But there is still more of my ordeal in this city that I have not told you. Of a riot that took place the day Princess Myrcella left King's Landing. I was-…I was attacked…nearly raped in some hovel…" Sansa peered into her lap, her words bitter "But the Hound, Sandor…he saved me. He killed them all, and he saved me. He is-…he was the only one who… _helped_ as much as he could. He's not a good man. But he was good to me, and he would protect me. I know that much."

Willas was horrified, leaning over to hold Sansa for a moment in his arms before sitting back with his hand in hers.

"I'm sorry-…I didn't mean to-."

"You didn't."

"If it pleases you, when Sandor Clegane returns to the capital, I will consider him for service in our household."

"Please, not on my account, Willas. Only if you believe he is of value to you."

"He saved you. I believe he is of more value than any other man I have in service at this moment." Willas affectionately caressed Sansa's cheek, causing the Princess to smile and raise her hand to place it above Willas's own.

* * *

Some would say much had changed in the time since Dany was preparing her siege of Yunkai, for example the Second Sons had abandoned their contract to the Yunkai'i and had instead joined Daenerys's ranks as sworn soldiers under the command of the Tyroshi Daario Naharis, who had taken control of the mercenary company after dishonorably slaying his two superiors in the night. Daenerys had not been impressed by the killings, but had been swayed by Daario's almost reverent loyalty to her. The tension between Daario and Ser Jorah was not lost to Dany however, for she knew both men wished for her affections, she may have been young but she was not a fool. She kept her encounters with both men professional and courteous as best as she could, despite the fact her bed did feel lonely in the night since Drogo had perished.

Yunkai fell to them with ease, Daario had led Ser Jorah and Grey Worm in a silent ambush to assassinate the Yunkish guards and round up the Wise Masters. As with Astapor, Dany released the slaves from their bonds and established a new government in her name, but she had not stopped there. Oh no, she had marched on to Meereen, the greatest city of Slaver's Bay.

Meereen was as large as Astapor and Yunkai combined, similarly built of brick, but where Astapor had been red and Yunkai yellow, Meereen was made with bricks of many colors.

"The harpy is a craven thing," Daario Naharis said when he saw the statue of the harpy atop the greatest pyramid of the high walled city. "She has a woman's heart and a chicken's legs. Small wonder her sons hide behind their walls." He said derisively as Daenerys's army stopped their march several hundred yards away from the gates of the city. From where she was, she could see that the whole city had come out to watch her arrival from the walls, Wise Masters and slaves alike were safe behind the brick and stone, hiding from whatever the Mother of Dragons brought with her.

But the Hero of Meereen did not hide. He rode out the city gates, armored in scales of copper and mounted upon a white charger whose striped pink-and-white barding matched the silk cloak flowing from the hero's shoulders. The lance he bore was fourteen feet long, swirled in pink and white, and his hair was shaped and teased and lacquered into two great curling ram's horns.

"The Champion of Meereen." Ser Jorah explained as Daenerys and her council dismounted their horses to observe the rider some ways off.

"They want you to send your own champion against him." Jorah said as the Wise Masters cried out their support of their champion from behind the safety of their walls. They all watched as the man dismounted his horse to step forward and start speaking loudly.

"What is he doing…?" Daenerys demanded, watching him coldly as the man dug around in his breeches to free his cock.

"I believe he means to…ah yes…" Ser Jorah trailed off as the champion began to urinate on the sand before him. The people of Meereen jeered and laughed raucously, causing Dany to raise an irritated eyebrow.

"He says we are an army without…man-parts…he claims you are no woman at all, but a man who hides his own cock in his own asshole." Missandei, Daenerys's lady-in-waiting translated causing the Dragon Queen to blister angrily.

"Half the city's listening…" Jorah said, not helping Daenerys's anger at all.

"I have something else for them to listen to. But first I need this one to shut up. Do I have a champion?" Daenerys asked, turning to face her gathered party. Jorah instantly volunteered as she knew he would, and though she knew that his feelings for her made things difficult, she could not bare to part with him yet. He was her closest friend, her most loyal general. She needed him.

It was Daario who she chose from the many who volunteered, Daario whom she watched kill the Champion of Meereen as though he were an annoying fly, it was Daario who caused a stirring in Dany that hadn't happened since Drogo and it was Daario she ignored when she turned to face the Meereenese, as he pulled out his manhood and pissed in the direction of the walls.

She loathed these people, the Great Masters of Meereen had withdrawn before Dany's advance, harvesting all they could and burning what they could not harvest. Scorched fields and poisoned wells had greeted her at every hand. Worst of all, they had nailed a slave child up on every milepost along the coast road from Yunkai. Over a hundred dead, crucified children. Daenerys had been horrified. Daario had given orders for the children to be taken down before Dany had to see them, but she had countermanded him as soon as she was told. "I will see them," she said. "I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember." By the time they came to Meereen sitting on the salt coast beside her river, the count stood at one hundred and sixty-three. _I will have this city_ , Dany pledged to herself once more.

Arrows began to rain down from the walls, but fell far short of the army and of Daario who simply laughed as he returned to the group, dusting his hands off before taking place beside Dany, who had stepped forward to address the city. Her voice was loud enough to carry across the scorched land and echo to the ears of the people of Meereen. She spoke in Valyrian, her mother tongue, the words fluently pouring from her lips.

" _I am Daenerys Stormborn. Your Masters may have told you lies about me, or they may have told you nothing. It does not matter. I have nothing to say to them. I speak only to you. First, I went to Astapor. Those who were slaves in Astapor, now stand behind me, free. Next I went to Yunkai. Those who were slaves in Yunkai, now stand behind me, free. Now I have come to Mereen. I am not your enemy. Your enemy is beside you. Your enemy steals and murders your children. Your enemy has nothing for you but chains and suffering, and commands. I do not bring you commands. I bring you a choice. I bring your enemies what they deserve_!" Daenerys's words visibly had effect on the people, some retreated, others straightened, even more murmured amongst themselves creating a loud buzzing noise as Daenerys's features hardened.

" _Forward_!" she called, causing her Unsullied to begin marching large catapults forward to the fore of the army. The Wise Masters all watched in apprehension as the catapults were rolled forward, some were angry whilst most were fearful.

" _Fire!_ " Daenerys's single word stuck in the air as the catapults fired one after the other, sending huge barrels through the air and smashing into the city of Meereen, where collars rained from the walls where the barrels exploded into many different pieces, they rained from the skies where the barrels split apart in the air to shower the Masters and slaves in the leather and steel. They were the slave collars of the freedmen of Astapor and Yunkai, and a sign from Daenerys that she would free the Meereenese slaves as well.

* * *

Sansa, Robb and Jon were the only Starks in King's Landing, with Arya and Rickon having followed their mother to Riverrun. Lady Catelyn had never liked King's Landing, even now that her son was the King. The city held bitter memories of the last time she saw her beloved Ned, the foolish honorable man that she mourned almost every waking minute. If Ned had lived, she knew they'd all be safe in Winterfell once more, away from the dangers of governance and corruption and betrayal. Robb had wandered into the game of thrones, and had no idea that the game never ended. She could not see that Robb was meant for this, she could not see that his inherent goodness would change Westeros for the better, not yet.

And so when Robb gave her leave to go to Riverrun, she had left almost immediately, for she knew that her father was not long for this world.

Hoster Tully had once been the definition of a lord in Catelyn's mind, tall, handsome, strong and kind. Her father had been a powerful man in both battle and politics, his word had been respected by many. And as he had aged that power had waned, for his son Edmure had never had the backbone he possessed, the backbone that his grandson, the King, now possessed. Edmure was a good man, he would be a fair lord, but he would never be Hoster, and Catelyn worried for her House in that regard, especially as she sat beside her father's bed that night, holding his hand.

"Mini-…Mini is that you…" Hoster Tully wheezed desperately as he clutched his daughter's hand and called out for his late wife. "Mini…I had a terrible dream…" Hoster croaked as a tear trailed down his wrinkled face. Catelyn could only keep silent, clutching her father's hand as he spoke. Her father had been slipping between sanity for the past few days, and his health had only gotten worse after Catelyn's arrival, for Hoster had held out to see his little Cat for as long as he could.

"I did-…I did a terrible thing to Lysa, Mini…you would be so upset with me…" Hoster's words were sad, heavy with burden and woe. "I had no choice…no choice…"

"It's alright…it's alright…you did-…you did what you had to…" Catelyn comforted her father, knowing that she had always looked and sounded enough like her mother to comfort her delirious father at that moment.

"Catelyn…will she ever forgive me…?" Hoster croaked, his eyes momentarily regaining their sharpness as he saw his daughter and realized where he was.

"She will, father…I know she will." Catelyn lied, tears running down her cheeks as Hoster nodded weakly, his vivid blue eyes fluttering closed as he murmured to himself.

"You're a good girl. My best girl. Little Cat." Hoster smiled through his closed eyes, squeezing Catelyn's hand and causing her to sob slightly as Hoster continued, his voice growing weaker along with his grip on her hand. "Forgive me…forgive me…Mini…forgive me, my love…" Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands slipped away peacefully in the company of his daughter, thinking of his wife and dreaming of a time when his children had been just that; children. Of Lysa, Petyr, Edmure and Catelyn running around Riverrun as he ruled it in his prime. Hoster Tully died with a happy memory on his mind and a sad word on his lips.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter at a whopping 5491 words, I'm trying to put up big updates now.**_

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	16. Chapter 16 - Impregnable

"Boy, definitely. At least one boy." King Robb Stark, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms said to his wife as the royal couple lounged on a chaise that they had put out for them on their private balcony that overlooked the growing city and the shimmering blue sea. Margaery Stark was herself curled up with her head on her husband's lap, watching the sunset and the sailing ships as they shared a quiet moment together.

"Such a man." Margaery rolled her eyes good-naturedly, before glancing up to Robb "All I'm saying is be prepared for two little princesses, Your Grace."

"And I will love them all the same. But I can definitely tell…it's a boy and a girl." Robb confidently smiled, leaning down to kiss Margaery's head before sitting back up with a sigh to put his feet up on a stool, looking out at the beautiful orange sun and feeling a slight sense of contentment that was only marred by a loud snore from Grey-Wind who slept beneath Margaery on the floor beside the chaise, having become increasingly protective of her since the pregnancy.

"I swear this damned wolf sleeps more than I thought possible for a living creature!" Robb's exclamation merely made Margaery laugh.

"This damned wolf fought for over a year by your side, all over Westeros, killing men and protecting you, and through it all he survived without injury and kept you alive. If any creature deserves a good rest, its this wolf here." Margaery's voice was affectionate as her hand reached down to scratch Grey-Wind behind the ears, causing the direwolf to have his tongue loll out past his fangs as he panted happily.

"I swear the two of you have a closer relationship than we do." Robb chuckled, affectionately caressing Margaery's hair.

"He only loves me because you do, and I love him because…he _is_ you." Margaery smiled, curling up further onto the chaise as Robb smiled.

"So what should we name them?"

"I already know what we're going to name one of them." Margaery said plainly into the cushion of the chaise as she drifted off into a nap.

"Um, excuse me, shouldn't the father have some say in the naming of his children?" Robb asked, gently shaking his wife's shoulder and causing Margaery to prop herself up on her elbows and look him in the eye.

"When our first boy comes…we're going to call him _Eddard_." Margaery said simply, her golden eyes glinting with affection, as Robb's own blue eyes began to glisten.

"I love you." His words were quiet before he leaned in to kiss his Queen. Robb and Margaery were interrupted from engaging in more intimate activities by a knock on their chamber doors that carried over to where they were sitting on the balcony. Margaery sighed, pulling her robe back over her shoulders as Robb re-buttoned the tabs on his tunic that Margaery's deft fingers had just undone.

"Enter!" Robb called, refusing to rise from his comfortable position at that moment, even as Jon Stark and Grand Maester Rickard strode in together.

"Your Grace, my Queen, pardon the intrusion-."

"Its obviously urgent." Robb sighed, cutting off Jon and holding his hand out for the scrolls that Rickard held in his hands.

"What news, Jon?" Margaery asked, sitting up to look from her husband to the Grand Maester to the Hand, who sighed.

"Word from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Riverrun…" Jon's tone was confusing, it seemed as though the tidings were both good and bad.

"Bran's returned!" Robb exclaimed, reading the black wax sealed letter first, before his brow furrowed in confusion as he straightened the scroll out to read the letters on the page "Is this a joke?" Robb looked up to Jon, who could only grimly shake his head.

"Lord Varys has heard whispers from the North corroborating what Cotter Pyke has written. Bran is sailing for King's Landing, but Robb…there is graver news still." Robb looked from the uncomfortable Jon to the scroll that was stamped with his mother's seal.

"My grandfather is dead, isn't he?" Robb's tone was solemn; he did not even to look at the scroll as he deduced what had happened. Jon could only bow his head in a nod, Grand Maester Rickard offered his condolences as Robb's eyes flicked across his mother's words.

"Edmure renews his oath of fealty as Lord of Riverrun…the funeral should have been held by now. She said it was to take place the day after this letter was sent." Robb's tone was strangely hollow. Lord Hoster had doted on Robb since he was a boy, he was his oldest grandson after all, and Hoster had ever seen himself in the young Robb as the Young Wolf had grown older and stronger. But even though Robb had idolized his grandfather…he had not seen the man since before Renly Baratheon's death, and even then Hoster's mind had been far afield.

"I am sorry, my love." Margaery's words were quiet as she placed a soothing hand on Robb's arm.

* * *

" _I'll impregnate the bitch_." Bronn had remembered saying those words to Tyrion fucking Lannister oh so many months ago, and cursed himself yet again for doing so as his arms felt like they were about to wrenched from his torso. As he had been doing for the last few hours, he reminded himself of the spoils he would receive from Robb Stark once this whole thing was fucking over. Gingerly removing one gloved hand from the thick rope that was securing him to the mountain wall of the Eyrie's foundations, he ran his forearm across his sweating forehead as he exhaled in his exhaustion. He looked beneath him to see that of the thirty men that had joined his mission, five or six of them had fallen to their deaths, the rest were valiantly attempting to keep up with Bronn. They might have just passed the halfway point, Bronn could not tell, for the point where they had begun their climb was now lost to his gaze in the dark of the night. He could only just make the pinpricks of light coming from the Eyrie above; it was those tiny flickering glows that he aimed for.

Since King Robb had sent his declaration to the Vale of Arryn, the noble Houses had fallen into line almost one-by-one after Lysa Arryn refused to bend the knee to her nephew. Surrounded by her strong walls, she had foolishly declared her son the King of Mountain and Vale, a move that sent the most powerful Vale Houses, whose Lords and Ladies had known the young Eddard Stark when he grew up in the Eyrie, into decisive action almost immediately. When the almighty Royces of Runestone, the influential Waynwoods, honorable Egens and valiant Redforts banded together in open defiance of Lysa Arryn to swear fealty to the Iron Throne, many of the other Houses had followed them. Robb Stark had counted on this, and the lie that had been spread through the Vale of his United Army marching east was quickly revealed to be a falsehood to the loyal Vale lords. They raised their own men, as they should have done during the War of Five Kings, to march upon the seat of their liege lord from all corners of the Vale, bypassing the Bloody Gate as King Robb had hoped. And just as the undefeated King had predicted, Lady Lysa had sent out almost her entire force to defend the Eyrie rather than surrender it, causing Robb's second prediction to come true; the men who served Lysa Arryn were sons, brothers, nephews and cousins to the besiegers, and they all knew that Lysa was leading them to death. Many switched sides almost immediately.

But despite the strong host of valemen surrounding the Eyrie, they were at a stalemate. Even with the few men she had in the castle, she could cause massive losses to the army if they tried to besiege the road. The waycastles of Stone, Snow and Sky that guarded the road from the Gates of the Moon to the Eyrie needed only the few remaining men she had loyal to her. That was why Bronn and his team were traversing this cliff face in the dead of the night, using shadow and cloud to their advantage as the main host distracted the castle with large fires and war horns just before the Gates of the Moon, which was only just withstanding being overcome under the leadership of Nestor Royce.

Bronn could not say for certain how long the climb took, they had started before dusk the previous day, and dawn looked to be approaching when he finally hauled himself up over an unmanned bastion on the walls of the Eyrie. He collapsed onto his back on the stone walk, panting desperately as though he felt he would die from exertion at that very moment. Dawn did finally break when the last man of his party pulled himself over to join his comrades in taking a much needed rest. The Eyrie was an impressive castle, breathtakingly beautiful, and nigh empty since Lysa Arryn's court had all but abandoned her. Bronn and his party had managed to sneak their way into one of the unused towers of the castle for rest and reconnaissance. Lady Dacey Mormont, Field General of the Royal Army, had chosen the men who accompanied Bronn herself, all of them were fierce rogues of the North. Unlike their warrior brethren, these men were lithe, agile and preferred the dishonor of darkness to complete their mission. This suited Bronn just fine, for he was much the same. He used their skills to evaluate the layout of the castle, and to take out Lysa's remaining guards without raising the alarm. Over the course of a day, they managed to dwindle down the Eyrie's garrison, those who surrendered were bound and gagged (Bronn knew that the Wolf King would like that bit of "honor"), the guards who tried to fight back had their corpses thrown over the walls before anyone could find them. When night finally fell again, Bronn's men had successfully stolen the uniform armors of Lysa Arryn's guard and infiltrated the Crescent Chamber where the mad woman rocked in the Stonethrone whilst her slow-witted grown son suckled at her breast like a starving newborn.

The full helms of the Arryn armor successfully hid their identities as they maneuvered their way around the chamber to take position behind the few remaining Arryn guards. Lysa was none the wiser as she rocked in the ancient throne of the Arryns, clutching Robert Arryn like a vice.

"No one will hurt you, my sweet boy. No one…Petyr would never let that happen. My Sweetrobin…" Lysa could only mutter nonsensically, looking down at her son with dark purple rings around her eyes. "I will never let them hurt you…you are all I have left of him…"

"Of who, mummy?" Robert asked, pulling away from her chest to blink up at her with those grey-green eyes of his, grey-green eyes that had never been a trait of House Arryn or House Tully.

"Hate to interrupt the 'meal', m'lady," Bronn's sardonic tone rang across the Crescent Chamber as he tipped his helm off and withdrew his sword in a single motion "But in the name of King Robb Stark, First of His Name, I advise ye' to surrender." Bronn smiled, as his men behind him withdrew their own swords to subdue the remaining Arryn guards. One or two tried to fight back, and had their swords smashed aside.

"Yield." Bronn encouraged, holding his favorite dagger against the throat of Lysa's Captain of the Guard as he looked up at her "Or I shall climb up there and say you yielded all the same."

* * *

"Gods, you Mormonts don't let up, do you?" Jon exclaimed, falling against a wooden bannister of the training yard after Dacey Mormont had just knocked him off his feet with a savage blow from her favorite sparring sword. The beautiful but deadly heir to Bear Island merely smiled, spinning her sword back into her sheath before brushing the back of her hand across her moist forehead.

" _Here We Stand_ , Jon Stark." Dacey offered Jon a hand to stand upright, repeating the words of her House and causing the Hand of the King to grin.

"Your uncle…Lord Jeor…he was..." Jon tried to get the words out; his admiration for Jeor Mormont, his respect for the Old Bear and the grief at his passing. Dacey's own features hardened for a moment, hardened from pain and loss before she averted her gaze from Jon Stark to the dirt of the training ground.

"I know." Her words were soft, but they were enough. Jon placed a comforting hand on the pauldron of her shoulder, Dacey in turn gave Jon a warm smile.

"Come now, my Lord Hand. It won't do anyone any good if you get gutted by some pirate on our journey east."

"I fought Beyond-the-Wall for months, I'll have you know."

"Aye, you did. But you still fight too pretty to get any real damage done. Look at Smalljon and the King." Dacey gestured to the two men who were sparring in the training circle adjacent to them.

"Robb used to fight like you. Still does at times, but he's learned now to adapt. Smalljon could have chopped him in two a year ago, now I'd say they're evenly matched. You're a good fighter, better than most, but you're not amongst farm boys, rapists and thieves anymore. You're the Hand of the King and you will be leading the army beside us. Bring out Longclaw." Dacey's order caused Jon to look up sharply. Out of respect for Dacey, Jon had kept Longclaw sheathed and out of sight, for he knew that the blade truly belonged to House Mormont.

Dacey had turned to pull out her own favorite bastard sword and did not see the look Jon was giving her until she turned back around to see he had not moved an inch. She raised an eyebrow, before realizing where his reluctance came from. Dacey merely sighed, running a hand through her long, silken dark hair.

"Jon. My cousin, Jorah,…he brought shame on us all. He nearly _destroyed_ House Mormont and Bear Island. He could have easily taken the sword…but he left it behind. I could have taken it then, Mother could have, even Alysanne could have. But none of us did. Uncle Jeor did, and he chose you to take it next. You saved his life…that is far more than his own son did for him. If my uncle chose you to wield Longclaw in this life, then you are worthy of the honor."

"Dacey…I don't know what to say-…"

"Say nothing. Bring it out. I want to see if you fight better with your own sword in your hand." Dacey confidently smiled, before assisting the Hand in advancing his technique with the Valyrian steel sword that had been given to him.

"You need a shield." She commented, circling Jon analytically a little while later.

"I don't fight well with one."

"Well, you're off balance. You have to learn. Here." She ventured to a rack of weapons where a freshly forged Stark shield was lying against the swords. It was circular steel with an embossed wolf's head on the metal. Dacey assisted Jon in slipping it on his arm, before stepping back to look at him.

"No. You need a square shield. Spiked, I think…you should speak to Ser Garlan. He has a keen eye for these things. He's outfitted all my officers in the past few weeks."

"I'll see him soon then. I think we can call it a day for now, my lady. I have some matters to attend to."

"Is that what you're calling her now?" Dacey teased, causing the Hand to flush scarlet.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yes you do. Gods, Jon, I haven't ever seen a man as oblivious as you are. She _likes_ you." Dacey laughed, sliding the sparring sword she used back into the rack of weapons in the corner of the yard.

"No she doesn't. She wants to wrap me around her little finger." Jon insisted as he shrugged off his sparring armor with assistance from his squire, Torrhen Whitehill, who had been a ward of Roose Bolton's before Robb had destroyed the House of Bolton. Torrhen had been overjoyed to move into the service of Jon Stark, who treated Torrhen with far more kindness than the lad had ever known from his previous master.

"Aye, she does. Doesn't mean you have to let it happen. Are you so rigid that you can only enjoy her affections if you are under her thumb?"

"You've been spending too much time with Margaery." Jon commented bitterly, pulling off his gauntlets as Dacey laughed.

"Aye, perhaps I have. I didn't much care for our Queen at first, but I am quite fond of her now. She loves Robb, and Gods has she got a mouth on her."

"Well they call her grandmother the Queen of Thorns…I'd expect nothing less." Jon muttered wryly, before turning to Torrhen "Torrhen, please have my lunch brought to the Tower of the Hand, I will eat in my chambers today."

"Avoiding bumping into someone, hm?"

" _Daceeey_." Jon's tone was of warning, but it merely caused his friend to laugh her head off.

"Are you teasing Jon about Arianne again?" a panting King Robb asked Lady Dacey as Jon Stark wandered off, and the King and Smalljon Umber ended their spar to put their weapons away with Dacey.

"Of course, I am. It's _hilarious_."

"I cannot believe he has resisted her this long." Smalljon muttered, causing Dacey to sober up slightly as she threw the Umber heir a sharp look. Robb glanced between them, picking up on a certain tension he hadn't noticed before between his two best friends.

"He still grieves for his wildling girl, I suppose." Robb offered, as the trio left the training grounds to make their way into the halls of the Red Keep.

"She left him. Gods be good, if it was me-."

"Yes? What if it was you, Smalljon Umber?" Dacey cut off Smalljon before he could say anything else, causing the towering young man to go rarely silent.

"Uh-…my friends…is everything alright?"

"Fine, Your Grace." Dacey and Smalljon chorused quickly, before glancing at each other and looking away. Robb then clicked on what was happening and fought to hide his sigh. He should have seen this coming from miles away. Dacey and Smalljon liked each other.

* * *

"Of course they like each other! You'd have to be blind, dumb and deaf not to see it." Queen Margaery Stark exclaimed as her husband did his best to massage her swollen feet in bed.

"Hey…" Robb said in a hurt tone.

"Sorry, love. But it's true. I saw it weeks ago, its adorable really, they're both… _Northern_ …" Margaery chuckled, before letting out a sigh as Robb managed to work his thumb into her heels.

"Everyone's falling in love, it seems."

"Is this still about Jon and the Martell girl?" Margaery laughed "Why are you so scared of what will happen with them?"

"Because the last time he had someone, he all but forgot about his duty to me and to the realm. I don't want him to continue thinking with his cock when I have Seven Kingdoms to rule." Robb sighed, moving up in the royal four poster bed to take Margaery into his arms.

"You need to give Jon more faith, my love." She encouraged, nestling her head into his chest "So is everything prepared for your brother's arrival?" she asked with a yawn

"Aye. Though I'm not sure what needed to be done besides preparing chambers for Bran and his party. I know I should be excited about seeing him again…but I am oddly filled with a sense of dread. Its disconcerting…"

"I know what you mean…I've had the same feeling…it's almost though Bran's arrival will bring bad tidings…I really want to meet him, Robb. But I'm scared of this feeling…" Margaery admitted to her husband, who could only frown and hold his wife tighter.

"Nothing will happen to us. I won't let it." He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "I promise."

"Do better, Robb Stark." Margaery squeezed his hand, as Robb smiled slightly.

* * *

The Small Council chambers had recently undergone a renovation, per Margaery's orders of the builders and craftsmen she had commissioned. The chambers were now a far more pleasant place, with the airflow from the windows keeping it much cooler than it had been in the past, beautiful wooden paneling replaced harsh red stone walls while soft Myrish carpets lay on the floor. The Council was now only missing Prince Oberyn Martell when they gathered on the morning that news arrived from the Vale.

"Everything when as planned, Your Grace. I am told that Lord Yohn Royce's son, Ser Andar, has been left as Castellan of the Eyrie while Lady Lysa and Robert Arryn are brought to the capital." Lady Dacey Mormont reported, sliding a raven's scroll down to the center of the table where Robb was seated.

"How many men did we lose?" Jon Stark, the King's Hand asked of the Council at large, for most of them had various eyes and ears throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

"Under ten, I am told Your Grace." Lord Varys reported, bowing forward slightly as he spoke "Most of whom fell on the climb up the mountain."

"It was a dangerous gamble…" Robb sighed, letting the scroll fall to the tabletop as he rubbed his eyes.

"One that paid off, my King. The Vale is now yours, and the decision of what must be done now is upon us."

"I cannot remove Robert Arryn from his rightful place without Littlefinger being alive. Were he alive, I might have been able to prove that the boy is his bastard. Removing a child from his place as a lord will earn me discontent, but if I can guide Robert to becoming a good lord-."

"Good luck." Brynden Tully, now known as Lord Blackfish, scoffed, causing everyone to glance over at him.

"Apologies, Your Grace. As you know…I served my niece for many years. The boy…the boy is not-…he is not fit for rule. He is sickly and frail. Your efforts will be wasted upon him. You will never win everyone's love, my King, but you can certainly ensure that you rule them all well. Robert Arryn must be removed."

"I shall think on this matter. Lord Tyrion, report on our financial state."

"Our investments have cost us almost five million gold, Your Grace, but by my calculations we shall start seeing great dividends of these investments in only a few weeks time." Tyrion looked up from the great ledger before him when called upon "Our new trade alliances in particular-."

 ** _"Your Grace!"_** Ser Loras Tyrell, who exploded into the Small Council chambers in a panic, cut off Tyrion from finishing his report and startling everyone into silence.

"The Kingslayer has escaped!" no one moved, no one said anything, until Robb placed his fists on the table to slowly rise, a cold aura of anger slowly growing from him.

"How?" Robb's demand received no answer, only a shrug. " _How?!_ "

* * *

"They must be deserters from the war, hiding in the countryside." Dacey Mormont deduced at once, as the Council now stood around a great map of Westeros that had been brought out. Robb himself remained silent as he stared down at the spot marked on the map where thirty of his soldiers had been slaughtered like sheep.

"The question is how did they know the Kingslayer would be moving through the lands."

"Gods, everyone knew. _Jaime Lannister_ moving through the countryside to take the black? Its probably one of the most scandalous things to come from the war. Half the bloody country recognizes him from one tourney or another." Brynden Tully held the hilt of his sword as he spoke.

"I have heard no songs about Jaime Lannister, Your Grace, though this is more troubling than encouraging." Varys's tone was reluctant, and the last words said before everyone fell silent to wait for Robb's decision. Five minutes might have passed, maybe ten, before finally Robb looked up to the one person who wished they were anywhere else but in those chambers at that moment.

"What will he do?" Tyrion Lannister chewed his bottom lip for a long moment, holding Robb's gaze and feeling an intense pressure mount inside of him. On one hand, he loved Jaime…he loved his brother more than any other member of his family. But he was also now loyal to Robb Stark…Robb who had shown Tyrion more faith and friendship than anyone in his family had ever done. If Tyrion did not help…he would lose Casterly Rock, he would lose the good graces he had attained with the Wolf King, and he would have no hope of preserving the Lannister dynasty for the next generation. He had to do what was right…

"He'll come for her. One way or another, he will come for her." Tyrion stated plainly, causing Robb to sigh.

"Who?" Smalljon Umber asked, his brow furrowed in confusion, only to receive a single-worded growl from King Robb in response.

"Cersei."

Robb pushed himself away from the table to pace, as he always did when he was thinking strenuously.

"What state is she in?" Robb inquired, looking up to Margaery whom he had entrusted with Cersei's custody.

"As well as you can imagine…half-mad, raving. We moved her from the Black Cells, that seemed to help somewhat. She's not the woman she once was, that's for certain." Margaery sighed, looking at her husband with worry.

"Double her guard until this matter is resolved. Smalljon, I want the city and the Crownlands on full alert, but I don't want word to reach the smallfolk. A big operation will alert the Kingslayer that we know he is out there. If he was in the Riverlands…he wouldn't have risked going North. The Reeds would have destroyed them at the Neck. If he was smart he would have joined Aunt Lysa before we took her down…"

"My brother is a man of action, not a man of thought."

"Which works to our advantage. He fancies himself a smart man…if I understand him as well as I think I do, then I know exactly what he's planning to do; cause strife. He will burn my villages, harm my people, and cause general chaos until I ride out to face him. He will act like the very outlaws he once slayed. He will take inspiration from the Kingswood Brotherhood, will he not, Ser Barristan?" the bold Lord Commander of the Kingsguard merely had his eyes widen before he approached the map.

"Gods be good…"

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** I had originally wanted to include Bran's arrival, and another little scene between Jon and Arianne in this chapter as well as something **SUPER SCANDALOUS AND SHOCKING THAT WILL AFFECT ONE OF THE GREAT HOUSES.** But this will come in the next chapter maybe :)_

 _ **REVIEW XOXO**_


	17. Chapter 17 - Bran's Return

The _Blackbird_ was once the largest ship in service to the Night's Watch, before King Robb Stark had sent enough gold, men and supplies for Cotter Pyke to begin building new ships. As such, the grey-sailed ship was free to take Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell and his small group from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea all the way to King's Landing. The sky was dull with an approaching storm, the faded grey sails of the ship fading into the grey skies above it as the _Blackbird_ docked on the grand pier where a small welcoming party had gathered to greet Bran, Jojen, Meera and Hodor. Robb himself was looking ever regal; a new wolf's fur cloak was fastened over his fine leather jerkin with a direwolf's head clasp, his crown was secure upon his head and his hand was clutching the hilt of his sword as he looked at the disembarking party with a smile. Jon, Sansa, Lord Varys, Lord Brynden Tully, Smalljon Umber, Ser Barristan and Ser Loras stood around the Young Wolf, with two of Smalljon's Grey Cloaks holding up Robb's royal standard. Grey-Wind and Ghost were restless and whining as they sensed Summer nearby, and when Bran's direwolf came into view, nothing stopped the littermates from playfully reuniting on the dock. Robb, Jon and Sansa strode forward as Hodor disembarked the ship with Bran harnessed to his back.

Despite Bran's disappointment with his eldest brother, he could not help but beam as he saw his siblings. Sansa was the first to reach him, tears in her eyes, she reached up to squeeze her brother tightly before kissing his cheeks. Jon went next, embracing Bran even in his harness, until finally Robb affectionately held Bran's head as he hugged him. The older Stark children marveled at how much Bran had grown whilst he was away; he was looking less and less like the boy they remembered.

"You look like skin and bone, Bran. Gods, you should have gone home first." Robb said in concern, unaware that his words would remind Bran why he had set sail for the capital with all haste.

"There was no time to lose, and even less so now. We must venture to the castle, Hodor, Jojen and Meera need rest, and I need to speak with you at once, _Your Grace_." Robb furrowed his brow at Bran's tone, as did Jon and Sansa who exchanged a glance before looking to their brothers.

"Very well." Robb licked his upper lip slightly before finally speaking "My lord and lady of Reed, you are most welcome here in King's Landing. Chambers have been prepared for you. Hodor, it's good to see you. Follow us, my friend." Hodor smiled at Robb's words, nodding his head. Jojen and Meera bowed respectfully before thanking Robb.

" _Hodor_."

* * *

Queen Margaery had taken ill when the party returned to the castle, sending her apologies that she could not yet meet her brother by law. Bran took no insult or offense, merely wishing Margaery good health before he had once again requested urgent audience with Robb. Due to Hodor needing to get some rest and acclimate to his new surroundings, Robb had approached Tyrion Lannister and Grand Maester Rickard a few weeks ago to ask how Bran could gain some independence in his movement. Rickard had heard of Prince Doran Martell's wheelchair that assisted the Prince of Dorne to move around despite his crippling gout, and with Tyrion Lannister's assistance the Grand Maester had designed it, master blacksmith Tobho Mott had built it. He had experimented for days before managing to work inflated leather around the wooden wheels in what would be the first development of tires in Westeros. It was an innovation that had excited the Grand Maester, who saw it as a way to help many of their citizen who could not walk on their own.

Bran himself was being eased into that first wheelchair with help from his brothers, before he adjusted himself in the seat.

"It's…interesting…" Bran commented, using the steel handrims on the larger back wheels of the chair to slowly move forward and backward.

"I thought-…it might help, just when Hodor isn't around…and you want to move…? If you don't like it-."

"No, it's-…good. Thank you. Really." Bran looked up to Robb with a small smile, before rolling his chair before Robb's desk in the King's solar. Robb himself was seated in the king's chair, while Jon stood behind him with folded arms, looking at Bran with great sadness. Jon had not seen Bran since he had woken, and it broke Jon's heart to see the price his brother had to pay for Jaime and Cersei Lannister's actions.

"Are you don't want to get some rest first?"

"No, Jon. I'm fine. I will rest when our mission is done." Bran's serious tone silenced his older brothers, who were not used to their baby brother being so forceful. This silence was followed by Bran's voice turning stern as Ned Stark's own voice had once been "Robb what did Jojen tell you before I left Winterfell? Did he not detail to you what needed to be done? You should have been in Essos _month_ s ago. Instead you've been playing this foolish game." Robb and Jon could only stare with slightly open mouths as Bran gave them a verbal lashing.

"Every day you have stayed here, trying to make sure you're building your power and your dynasty is another day you have almost led us all to death and destruction! The Long Night is coming, and you have done nothing to prepare us for it. You are failing us."

"Now hold on!" Robb snapped, rising from the table "Hold on just a minute, my little lord. But you have no idea of what I've been doing since father died. I protected you from all this. You do not have this burden-."

"Some burden, Robb. A crown, Seven Kingdoms and Margaery Tyrell at night."

" _Brandon!_ " Jon exclaimed in shock as Robb's featured contorted in fury. Bran merely gave his brothers a cool gaze before blinking once; his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he remained perfectly upright, Summer on the other hand stood up, his eyes flashing white for a moment as he stared at Jon and Robb, both of whom were silenced by what they were seeing. Summer circled Bran's body before sitting by his side. Bran's eyes rolled back down to flick between Robb and Jon, who gaped at him.

"Apologies. I didn't know how else to calm you down. Everything you have been doing Robb, it makes you a good king, maybe the best King Westeros has ever seen, but you've been pursuing these goals of a greater Westeros while forgetting the real danger. If you had gone when Jojen told you to go, you might already be home and Daenerys Targaryen would have joined us. Now…we are in danger of losing her support in this altogether, and if that happens then…Westeros, all your work to make it better, and everyone we love is lost. Thankfully…I am here, and from what I have seen I can teach you and Jon what you need to know to at least convince her to come to Westeros with her dragons."

"What do you mean teach us?" Jon inquired, paler than usual from what he had just heard and seen.

"You know what I mean, you saw it when you were North, I know you did. We're wargs, Jon, all of us." Bran's words merely caused his normally confident and self-assured brothers to shake their heads and for Robb to sink back into his chair. Jon merely pressed his thumb and finger into his eyes as he tried to process what was going on. He longed for the simple days of when he and Robb were teaching Bran to use a bow and arrow…now Bran was saying that they were skinchangers…

"I cannot leave Westeros now, Bran. Jaime Lannister is on the loose, Margaery is with child-." Robb began after a little while, only to have Bran cut him off.

"Do you remember what Jojen showed you? Of a frozen castle and dead bodies? Your twins and your wife will die horrible deaths if you don't realize what's more important right now. We need to go east."

" _We?_ Its we now?"

"Yes. You both need me now." Bran looked between them before pushing his chair closer to the desk, he placed his hands atop the table to hold Robb's gaze. "Robb…when you went to war, I followed your word without question, as was my duty, you are my older brother and my king. I asked for your leave to go north, you gave me that faith. Trust me now, brother…trust me now and make all haste to sail to Essos…or all will be lost." Bran implored of Robb, who could only chew his bottom lip in deep, deep concern.

"How did you know we're having twins…?" Robb asked curiously

"I saw. Please, brothers, I have much to teach you and we have little time to learn. Please, make the preparations for us to set sail at once."

* * *

Bronn massaged his temples, before another ear-piercing scream shattered the calm of the high seas that morning as they sailed back to the capital. Bronn cursed the Gods, Robb Stark, Tyrion Lannister and most of all he cursed that loud bitch Lysa Arryn, who sounded like a dying cow. Bronn had treated the King's aunt and cousin with respect and honor as he had been expected to. He had taken them prisoner in the Eyrie, and the remaining defenders of the Stone, Snow and Sky threw down their swords just as the Valemen overcame the Gates of the Moon. The Eyrie was quickly settled, the Royces of Runestone had prepared a ship from Gulltown to sail to King's Landing. Bronn had even given Lysa, Robert and their Maester Colemon the Captain's Cabin, rather than confine them to the brig. But still she screamed and complained and made their journey a living bloody hell.

"D'you think the King would believe me if I say she slipped on the deck and fell overboard?" Bronn asked the ship's captain who merely snorted derisively and shook his head as the two men stood on the ship's bow watching the peninsula of Massey's Hook pass them by.

"Thought not." Bronn sighed, before another scream echoed from the chambers. "Bloody hell, I can't take another second of this, highborn or not!" Bronn shouted, his frustration momentarily getting the better of him as he stomped his way to the cabin, where four Stark soldiers were standing guard outside.

"Open it."

"The King won't-." one of the Stark soldiers began reluctantly, only for Bronn to cut him off with a snap.

"The King isn't bloody here-!"

"HELP! WE NEED HELP!" a terrified shout came through the cabin doors, causing all of the crew on the ship to jump and stare.

"Open the bloody door!" Bronn unsheathed his dagger quickly, exploding into the cabin to see Lysa Arryn in hysterics as she clutched her violently shaking son. Maester Colemon, the man who had shouted, had a deep gash across his forehead and looked to be trying to pry Robert away from Lysa.

"The boy will die if I don't help him! Get her off!" Colemon yelled at the Stark guards who stared at the scene before them in shock.

"Move yer' asses! You heard the man! Get that woman off the boy!" Bronn shouted, striding forward to act first, and with the assistance of his men he managed to pry Lysa's arms off the pale and seizing Robert Arryn, whose eyes had rolled to the back of his head while spittle bubbled on his lips.

"Robert! Robert, can you hear me?! Stay with me, Robert! I need sweetsleep! The purple phial on the desk, quickly!" Colemon flew to the boy's side, securing Robert's head in his lap in a manner he knew that allowed Robert to breathe easier, while Bronn grabbed and uncorked the purple phial for him. Lysa Arryn trashed and screamed against the holds of the Stark guards, screaming her son's name over and over again.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Bronn demanded, watching as Colemon tried to carefully tip the contents of the phial down Robert's throat.

"The boy has the shaking sickness! It's only gotten-NO! GODS! ROBERT!" Colemon had made a fatal, terrible mistake of glancing up to Bronn as he spoke, just as Robert gave a particularly violent trash of his head that nudged Colemon's hand and caused over half of the bottle of sweetsleep to go down his mouth.

"He has to get it out! He'll die! Help me! He's going to die!" But Colemon's efforts were in vain by then, sweetsleep was a fast acting drug. Three doses would send any man into a sleep he would never wake from, Robert had taken far more than that, and all those gathered in the cabin could only watch in horror as the frail boy's shaking slowly subsided, and Robert Arryn, Lord of the Vale moved no more.

 ** _"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_** Lysa Arryn's heart wrenching scream was heard all the way in Stonedance, the seat of House Massey that was several leagues away. The woman collapsed in the arms of the Stark guards, her sobs shaking her body so violently that the men feared she suffered from the same ailment as her now deceased son. Maester Colemon was shell-shocked, staring down at Robert's body and his own hands as though they were stained with blood.

"Fuck me…" Bronn swore, running a hand through his hair in disbelief at what had managed to transpire in the space of ten minutes. Robb Stark would have his head…unless… _no_ …it wasn't even his fault. He had witnesses, Robb Stark's own men, and he was still in charge here.

"Put Lady Arryn in a new cabin…have-…have the boy's body moved to the bed…and have this one taken to the brig until the King decides what to do with him." Bronn turned to look down at Colemon, the Maester who had too little hair and far too much neck looked up at Bronn with glistening eyes that were filled with terror.

"No-…you can't mean it…no, please! I didn't do this! I didn't mean to!" Colemon protested as two guards moved forward to seize the Maester by his arms and drag him away. Lady Arryn was practically catatonic and needed to be carried out, leaving Bronn and only a couple other guards in the cabin. Bronn looked down at the young boy's body and was filled with a momentary woe as he knelt down to carry Robert Arryn in his arms. He knew that the boy was a problem for the King, but this…this was cruel for even the Gods. A most terrible accident…and one that Bronn knew would send shockwaves throughout the Seven Kingdoms as soon as he docked in King's Landing.

* * *

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were avoiding me. But then I ask myself, why would the Lord Hand be avoiding me? Have I wronged him somehow?" Arianne Martell was incredibly silent when she wanted to be, almost as silent as Lord Varys. Jon Stark however had grown used to being crept up on in this city, especially by the Princess of Dorne in the last few weeks. Jon merely gave a half-chuckle, glancing from the Princess's dazzling gaze to ships that were docked in Blackwater Bay. It was dusk, and the orange sun served to make the dusky Arianne exceptionally breathtaking.

"Princess, I am sure there are other men in this city more deserving of your attention."

"Not so. They're all quite _boring_. After all, you still have not given me an answer if I will take my uncle's seat on your Council."

"King Robb's Council, and it remains the King's prerogative on naming you or your brother to sit in for Prince Oberyn temporarily, a decision he has yet to make."

"And you're telling me that there's nothing you can do to convince our dear King that I deserve a seat on the Council?" Arianne asked, by now having moved close enough to Jon to be able run a finger down the smooth leather of Jon's black jerkin.

"Are you telling me that you have convinced _me_ you deserve a seat? All you have done since you've arrived is try to seduce me, am I wrong?" Jon asked bluntly, turning to face Arianne whose smile dropped as quickly as her eyes hardened.

"We do things differently in Dorne, _Lord Hand_. I had assumed someone of your background would recognize that there was more to life than rigid honor. I may have thought we could have fun together, but if all you see is a girl who wants to fuck then you are very mistaken. I am Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne."

"My background?"

"I knew who you were _Jon Snow_." Arianne's normally breathy and exotic accent was now sharp, powerful and full of the authority of the future ruling Princess of Dorne. "More than once I have come to you in an effort to share and discuss matters of state, and all those times you have run from me because you believed I wanted you in my bed. I admit I did, but you should also be able to see when a woman is more than what is between her legs."

"I-…That's not-…I didn't-…"

"Oh yes? What fumbling words will you share with me now? Of how I dress too scantily to be a Councilor to the King? Or perhaps of how I am a woman?" if words could kill, Jon Stark would have been a cold corpse by now.

"No. Its neither of those things, do not put words in my mouth! It is entirely your decision how you dress, and being a woman has no bearing in our decision whatsoever. Robb actively seeks to diversify his council-."

"Then it is you who sees no values in Dorne's place, is that what you're telling me?"

"Princess, please! I apologize for angering you. I-just-…I lost someone-."

"Oh please. I've heard of this tale. _She left you_. A wildling bitch who gave up all of this to live amongst snow and shit, and you still grieve after all this time?" Arianne asked incredulously, gesturing to the Red Keep and the city of King's Landing before looking back up to Jon who clenched his jaw to give her a sincere answer.

"Yes. I do." Arianne blinked at his response, her anger dissipating rather quickly as she gazed at Jon Stark curiously.

"You loved her. Truly loved her." Arianne said quietly, tilting her head to look at Jon who nodded sadly. Arianne felt a new feeling for Jon Stark, not lust or anger…it was sympathy. She raised a hand to place on his cheek.

"You're a sweet man, Jon Stark. But you need to forget about her." Arianne was quiet before she leaned in to rise up on her tip toes and kiss Jon Stark before he could protest. Jon, to his credit, did not fight back and engaged Arianne passionately in return until she pulled away to give him a quirky smile.

"She didn't deserve you. And right now, I think you've gotten all you deserve from me." Arianne stepped away from his embrace while wearing a semi-satisfied smirk.

"If you have a moment, my Lord Hand. May we discuss Dorne's relationship with the Iron Throne while we walk back to the castle?" Jon chuckled, licking his lips and enjoying the taste of Arianne that lingered before offering her his arm and nodding.

"Of course, Princess."

"Firstly, we need to talk about Myrcella Baratheon."

"I wouldn't if I were you. Robb has made his intent that Jaime and Cersei's children be known as Hills quite clear."

"Yes, but Myrcella…she is not like her family, believe me in this. She is a smart girl, charming and quick-witted and she wishes not for the Iron Throne but only for safety."

"What do you suggest?"

"Her uncle Tyrion should take custody of her. When the Imp was trying to court us for the Lannisters, Myrcella was a good hostage, now she remains a burden on House Martell."

"What of her betrothal?"

"Ah yes, Trystane…" Arianne sighed, rubbing her brow as they walked arm-in-arm along the castle walls back to the Red Keep.

"I am told they're quite taken with each other."

"I suppose the marriage can be allowed to go forth…only if my father consents, however."

"Do you have any marriage proposals?" Jon found himself asking before he flushed scarlet and Arianne laughed.

"Why? Are you offering, my lord?"

"No! I mean-…I was just-…"

"Oh, my Lord Hand…will you ever learn not to fumble yours words around me?" Arianne chuckled, squeezing his arm slightly.

"One can only hope, Princess."

"Call me Arianne."

"Only if you call me Jon."

"It didn't take long to get you to like me. Just a bit of yelling and a kiss." Arianne noted with a smirk, causing Jon to sigh once more.

"You put on this front of cold rigid honor, but there's a burning passion inside of you, Jon Stark. I can see it. You're ice and fire." Arianne grinned, causing Jon to look up in surprise.

* * *

"If I'm not wrong…that's Jon and Arianne Martell…" Robb Stark called over his shoulder to his wife as he tried to peer down at two small figures walking into the castle far below his balcony. Margaery rolled her eyes as he came back into their chambers, wiping her freshly washed face on a clean towel.

"Robb, I'm starting to worry about your obsession with Jon and Arianne, if I didn't know any better I'd say you're jealous."

"I am not jealous!" Robb laughed, returning to join his wife by the fire where they settled into their usual comfortable position with Margaery curled up against Robb on the big fluffy chaise.

"You are so jealous that I should be jealous."

"And you're not?"

"Oh please, you love me far too much to stray, Robb Stark, even to that Hand of yours." Margaery smiled confidently, raising a hand to pat her husband's cheek.

"This is true." Robb admitted happily, leaning down to kiss Margaery before placing his hand over her slowly swelling belly.

"Robb…" Margaery said a little while later, her voice marred with deep concern "Everything Bran said today…about you leaving, about _wargs_ and skinchanging…is it all-…is it true?" Robb sighed, rubbing his eyes as he curled his lips.

"I don't know, my lady. I truly don't. I told you all I saw in Winterfell with Jojen Reed…tomorrow Bran wants Sansa, Jon and I to spend the day with him by the weirwood you gifted me in the Godswood."

"The whole day?"

"Aye…he says we have much to learn and too little time to learn in."

"And…you have to set sail for Essos so soon?" though Margaery did not voice her true concern, Robb knew why she was truly asking. It was their mutual fear that Robb would not be by Margaery's side when their twins were born, it was a fear that they did not like to talk about in case they gave it strength.

"Bran wants us gone within the fornight…"

"Robb-…everything is so…chaotic…leaving now, it will mean-."

"I know, Margaery, but what can I do? I can either stay in Westeros and build the realms to a place where the White Walkers will happily destroy us, or I can go to Essos, recruit Daenerys Targaryen and put up a fighting chance against these bastards."

"And what if while you're gone…Westeros has another revolt?"

"That won't happen, because I'm leaving the best person as Regent while I am away."

"What? Who?" Margaery demanded, rising to look at Robb quickly.

"You. You will be Queen Regent in my place, Lord Brynden will act as Protector of the Realm. You'll have most of the council by your side."

"Who are you taking with you, Robb?" Margaery asked with a clenched jaw, causing her King to sigh before answering her.

"Jon, Dacey, Smalljon, Ser Barristan, Bran, the Reeds and Hodor."

"What about Loras?"

"I'm leaving him here to guard you. I need you safe, and there's no one I know will keep you safer while I'm away than Loras and Garlan. They will be with you at all times."

"I want _you_ safe. She has dragons, Robb! How many men are you taking?" Margaery took her husband's lapels loosely in her hands as she demanded his answer.

"Ten thousand aboard the ships. Lord Blackfish is keeping the rest here to mount his assault against Jaime Lannister and hold the city."

"How many men does she have?"

"I'm not sure-."

"Robb." Margaery's stern tone caused Robb to sigh before glancing downward to relay the numbers that had been running across his head since Lord Varys had told him.

"Eight thousand Unsullied. Two thousand sellswords, maybe more, as well as a hundred and thousands of slaves who cannot fight."

"Oh Gods…" Margaery groaned, pressing her face into her hands.

"Margaery, you have to trust me in this. My brother would not advise me to do this if he didn't absolutely believe that it was essential. Bran is maybe more like father than any of us."

"I'll take your word for it." Margaery grumbled, settling back into Robb's arms.

"I will return to you." He said quietly into her hair.

"You had better, or I shall track you in the Seven Heavens and turn them into the Seven Hells for you Robb Stark."

"Gods be good…there's an incentive if I've ever heard one…" Robb said, his tone slightly fearful causing the Queen to chuckle. Margaery's near-cherubic chuckle caused Robb to start laughing in turn, until the King and Queen had temporarily forgotten their woes and enjoyed a moment of joy together.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Hey hey, so that scene with Robert was quite dark D:, so I wanted to end this chapter on some nice Jon/Arianne and Robb/Margaery fluff._

 _Coming up next: The Starks learn of their gifts, and the Dream Team finally sets sails for Essos!_

 ** _REVIEW DOWN HERE PLEASE XOXO_**


	18. Chapter 18 - Sweetrobin's Rest

_Author's Note: Heyooo, just a short update on the fallout from Robert Arryn's death and the Starks beginning their training :)_

* * *

Silence was all that reigned in the throne room, disrupted only by the soft crackling of the fires in the large braziers along the hall. Though the hour was late the Small Council had gathered in the Great Hall at King Robb's behest, and all of them now hovered behind him as he stared at the small, frail body of his cousin wrapped in a sky blue cloak of an Arryn guardsmen. Robb and Margaery had been roused from bed by Lady Dacey Mormont herself, who had been the first to receive report of what had transpired, Jon Stark had not been far behind when Robb and Margaery rushed out of Maegor's Holdfast. The rest of the council had filtered in, all clearly having come from bed. Robb himself was in a loose jerkin over his tunic while Queen Margaery had an elegant robe clutched around her form.

"How?" Robb finally asked, looking from Robert's covered body up to the cutthroat that he believed he had foolishly entrusted to deliver him the Vale of Arryn "How did my cousin die in your custody?"

"Beggin' your pardons, Your Grace. But I had nothing to do with the lads death, and the boys here can vouch for me." Bronn glanced to the six or seven soldiers around him who had been present when Robert Arryn died. Robb Stark's cold, blue gaze flicked to the men who silently nodded their confirmation of Bronn's story. These were not just Stark men, but men of House Royce, House Waynwood and House Hunter. Valemen who had no reason to lie to Robb or to anyone about what had happened.

"The lad was ill. He had the shaking sickness, Lord Tyrion himself saw it when he was taken captive." Bronn placed his hand on his sword belt as he began to explain what happened, Robb glanced to Tyrion Lannister who gave only a half-hearted nod.

"By the time the boys and I got into the room, your aunt Lysa had smashed that Maester of hers across the head with a candlestick, which I assume did not help what happened shortly after. She wouldn't let the boy go, he was choking on his own spit and so we pulled her off the boy and the Maester cradled his head. He called for sweetsleep-."

"Gods, no." Grand Maester Rickard breathed in horror, causing King Robb to glance to him before looking back to Bronn who could only curl his lips and offer a helpless shrug to the Grand Maester.

"Afraid so. Idiot didn't have a good hold on it, and Lord Robert here…well…he was shaking…shaking so hard that his head hit the Maester's hand and the phial overturned into his mouth. There was nothing that could be done after that I'm afraid." Grand Maester Rickard covered his mouth with his hand, before joining King Robb in moving to unwrap the cloak off Robert Arryn's cold body. Robb had never even met his cousin before, never even heard him speak. All he saw before him was a boy that was younger Bran, a boy that was dead because of his orders.

"Robb…you cannot blame yourself for this. It wasn't your fault…you weren't even there…" The Queen knew her husband well enough to know what would be running through his mind, and as he knelt there staring down at the boy's face, Margaery came up behind him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Queen Margaery's right, Your Grace. This was a-… _terrible_ accident, one that you had no hand in." Lady Dacey Mormont spoke up, causing murmurings of agreement to filter through the gathered Council.

"He was a boy!" Robb exclaimed, rising from his kneel to round on his Council, his fists clenched in desperation.

"Robb… _you didn't do this_." Jon Stark, the Hand of the King stepped forward to grasp his brother's forearm as he spoke quiet, genuine words to him. Robb clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head once to steel himself for yet another horror, another burden of the crown, before turning to face Bronn, his stoic King's face firmly in place.

"What of my aunt?"

"Catatonic, I'm afraid. Hasn't moved a muscle, won't eat, won't drink, and won't speak. She's under guard in the ship, we thought it best to wait for your order on what to do with her." Bronn said, causing Robb to give a low-throated growl in response.

"Grand Maester, take two of your acolytes down to treat my aunt and bring her back to the castle at once." Rickard bowed his head, looking back down to Robert Arryn's body for a moment before rising to hurry away.

"Lord Varys, have word sent to my Lords of the Vale at once of what has happened. Every detail, I do not want it to be said that I tried to cover up any part of this sorry affair. Send word to Lady Anya Waynwood that I would have her ward Ser Harrold Hardyng travel to King's Landing with all haste and a strong guard."

"At once, my King." Varys bowed, returning his hands into his voluminous sleeves to silently shuffle out of the great hall.

"Jon…have a funeral prepared for Robert at once. Full honors as Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Paramount of the Vale of Arryn…"

"Of course."

"Take him…somewhere safe…I just-…" Robb shook his head, pressing his fingers into his eyes as a Waynwood soldier moved forward to pick up Robert under direction of Smalljon Umber.

"I'll take care of him." The Lord Commander of the City Watch promised quietly, before leading the Valemen away and leaving Robb and the remaining Small Council members with Bronn.

"Where is this _Maester Colemon_?"

"In the brig of the ship."

"Dacey." Robb did not need to say more, merely glancing at his most trusted Field General who instantly nodded and began a determined stride out of the throne room with her hand firmly on the hilt of her sword to fetch the Maester who would be held responsible for Robert Arryn's death. The echoing of the doors closing behind Dacey was followed by Robb sinking to sit on the dais on which the Iron Throne was built upon, watched by his Queen, his Hand, his Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his Masters of Coin, Laws, War and Ships.

"You know there is only one thing that can be done here. One thing that will stop any rumors of you having a hand in Robert Arryn's death from spreading around the Kingdoms." Lord Tyrion Lannister spoke up, stepping forward to address his King and causing the others to all turn their gazes towards him in unison.

"Kill the Maester? It was an _accident_." Willas Tyrell, Master of Laws and Robb's brother by law spoke up, his words sharp with distaste for Lord Tyrion's counsel.

"This same Maester who let Jon Arryn die?" Tyrion asked with a slight scoff.

"So we are to lay the blame for Lord Arryn at his feet as well? Just so I may assuage myself of this guilt? No. I will not execute this Colemon. I will offer him two options, to confess his guilt before the court and accept the black or go to trial before Gods and Men and face execution should he be found guilty."

"That is…most wise, Your Grace…" Tyrion's tone was one of surprise as he bowed his head to step back. Robb only gave a sad half-chuckle in response.

"Don't look so surprised, my lord. I have in fact been reading those tomes I borrow off you." Robb sighed before rising from the step he sat on. "Lord Willas, please make sure preparations are made for either a trial or a confession tomorrow."

"Of course, my King."

"You may leave me, my lords. I would think a while." The Council bowed before dispersing, leaving Queen Margaery to stare up at her husband who in turn was staring up at the Iron Throne. Ser Barristan stood to the back of the hall, watching his King and Queen with a protective gaze whilst giving them their privacy.

"Tomorrow…everything could change. They might call me kinslayer."

"They would never do that. Over two-thirds of this country has fought beside you, no-one could ever think that you were a kinslayer." Margaery stepped up to squeeze Robb's hand in her own.

* * *

"Maester Colemon." Robb's voice echoed around the Great Hall, causing the weedy Maester to jump as he whipped his head up to look at Robb.

"Y-Y-Your Grace?" He stammered, averting his gaze back to the shackles that were around his hands and feet. The whole court had gathered that morning, and all watched in silence as Colemon had been dragged before the Iron Throne.

"You are, in fact, Maester Colemon of the Citadel, sworn in service to the Arryns of the Eyrie?"

"I-I-I a-am…"

"And you were responsible for the guardianship of Lord Robert Arryn on the journey from Gulltown to King's Landing were you not?"

"I w-was."

"And on this voyage, did my cousin suffer from yet another bout of his shaking sickness?"

"H-he did…"

"And how did you decide to treat that onset of his illness?"

"I-I-I…I had-…I was…in the past, I had u-used s-sw-sweetsleep to t-treat L-L-Lord Robert's a-a-ailment."

"Speak clearly, Maester. Your fate depends on it."

"I am sorry! I-I…I used sweetsleep! It had always worked in the past, but I had expressed my reservations to Lady Arryn about using it too often! She insisted however, she stated that it was the only medicine she would allow me to use for him."

"Why?"

"I-…I am bound by my oath to not share Lady Arryn's-."

"You are bound by your oath as a citizen of Westeros to speak truly to your King. Tell me why Lady Arryn chose only sweetsleep for Lord Robert's sickness."

"She had received the counsel of her trusted friend on the matter, I had brought the letter from Lord Petyr Baelish myself to Lady Lysa. After that I was forbidden from using anything else to treat him." This admission from Colemon had the court muttering furiously, Robb himself shuffled in the Iron Throne and glanced to Margaery whose golden gaze locked with her husband's.

"What happened on the ship, Maester?" Robb asked again, causing Colemon to look stricken for a moment before relaying the story of Robert's head bumping against his hand. Many of the court then began to erupt in loud yells, calling for Colemon's head as a murderer.

"Silence!" Robb roared, rising from the throne and bringing a swift silence "Maester Colemon. To me…this tragic series of events sounds like an accident, but by all the laws of Gods and Men, a Great Lord has died when he otherwise should have lived. Your hand held the drug that took his life." Colemon visibly paled at Robb's words, and looked as though he would collapse at any moment.

"However…to sentence a man to death for an accident would be a cruel action worthy of the Mad King. I offer you two choices here, the first choice is to confess your accident, accept that Robert Arryn's death is on your hands and I will allow you to take the black." Colemon swiftly looked up in surprise, he had not been expecting the Night's Watch in the slightest. After all, the King's own cousin was dead, and he had held the phial of sweetsleep in his hands.

"The second choice is to take this matter to trial before Gods and Men, where should you be found guilty…your sentence will be dictated per the outcome of the trial. That means…that should evidence arise that would deem your execution necessary, I would have no choice but to order it so."

"I confess! It was an accident, Your Grace! Please, forgive me! I had only ever tried to care for Sweetrobin, I never wanted him dead." Colemon insisted, his shackles shaking as he passionately spoke out. Robb sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to nod at Colemon and then to the Grey Cloaks who were standing on either side of him.

"Maester Colemon, I Robb of the House Stark, First of My Name, King of the Andals, First Men and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm do this day strip you of your Maesterly rank and chain for the death of your lord, Robert Arryn. I sentence you to live out the remainder of your days on the Wall as a man of the Night's Watch, nothing more and nothing less. May the Gods have mercy on your soul." Robb clenched his jaw as Colemon practically wept in relief whilst he was being dragged away from the throne room by the Grey Cloaks who guarded him, leaving the court in a tense and awkward silence for a long moment.

* * *

"That was a farce!" Robb cursed himself as he exploded into his and Margaery's shared private chambers, his Queen close on his heels.

"Robb!" Margaery shouted as her husband slammed his fists down onto the desk in the chambers. She shook her head, shutting their door behind her to move to her King's side and place a soothing hand on the back of his neck.

"Robb, please. You're driving yourself mad. You need to accept that this wasn't your fault. Colemon himself knew that he was responsible, he thought he was going to die. Any other King, any other monarch would have ensured that he did. You spared his life and you still gave any valemen who wanted justice their justice. Please…you need to pull yourself together." Robb merely sighed, turning to sit on the edge of the desk and gently pull Margaery into his embrace.

"I'm sorry…I just…he was my cousin…after all this time is my family still no safer than when my father lost his head? How can I leave you…leave all three of you in this mess?" Robb asked quietly, placing his calloused hand over Margaery's swelling belly, where their twins were slowly growing ever stronger.

"This wasn't Joffrey or some evil plot to kill Robert. We all knew he was a sickly boy. This was the Gods, Robb…and no matter how powerful you are and how safe Westeros is…you will never be able to sway the will of the Gods."

"Bleak…" Robb sighed, causing Margaery to chuckle slightly.

"The Gods favor you now, my husband. And they favor you to champion them through the true darkness that is to come. I will look after matters of state today…you need to go find Bran. You and Jon both need to."

"What? Since when?" Robb pulled away from their hug to look up at Margaery with his brow furrowed in utter confusion.

"Since I realized that the sooner you are gone getting that Targaryen woman, the sooner you will return to me. Now go, Robb Stark." Margaery gave her husband a playful shove before spanking him lightly. Robb couldn't help but laugh slightly, ever thankful that his wife was as understanding as she was.

* * *

"Is this going to take long, Bran? I have to meet with Lord Rosby at sundown." Jon Stark sighed as he folded his legs beneath him to sit on the forest floor of the Kingswood in between Sansa and Robb. Bran sat with his back against the strong adolescent weirwood tree that Margaery had had brought in from the Isle of Faces for Robb as a wedding present. Jojen Reed sat beside him with his eyes closed and looking quite peaceful. Summer, Ghost and Grey-Wind were lying by their masters docilely waiting for whatever was about to happen. Bran looked to his sister, seeing Sansa's sadness as clear as day.

"Its alright, Sansa. You'll have a wolf again soon, I promise. In the meantime, I've trained Summer well enough that you can practice with him."

"I don't know about this, Bran…" Sansa said cautiously, looking from Jon to Robb to Bran.

"I know that… _all of this_ , everything we are going to do in the new few days is going to be very, very hard for you all, and for that I am truly sorry. But I hope that you all trust me enough to know that I wouldn't insist on this if it weren't important. So, no, Jon, I'm sorry you won't have time to see Lord Rosby. We will be here for quite some time."

"Bran…Robb has Seven Kingdoms to rule, its bad enough he's taking off for Gods-know-how-long to find Daenerys Targaryen, but now for us both to ignore our duties while we're still here-."

"You have a Small Council, Margaery is more than capable of ruling in Robb's place, and she has been from what I saw while Robb was fighting. I know this isn't ideal, but we have no choice." Bran sighed, looking between Jon and Robb who were gazing at each other as though they were having a silent conversation. It was only when Robb gave a single nod to Jon that the King and his Hand turned their attentions back to Bran, who gave them a grateful smile.

"Now I need you all to get comfortable. Summer, go to Sansa." Bran's wolf gave him a single glance before getting up to trot over to Sansa, whom he affectionately circled before lying down by her side. Sansa smiled slightly, running her gentle fingers through Summer's soft fur, forming a strong enough bond with Bran's wolf that would allow her to explore her skinchanging powers.

"I've spoken to you about your dreams already." Jojen Reed opened his eyes to finally speak to the Starks, a friendly smile having replaced his previously expressionless features.

"You've all felt it, to run, to hunt, to see through your wolves. Even you Sansa, before Lady was killed." Jojen said, looking to all of them individually.

"Bran's gift is strongest because when he fell, he spent so much time asleep he managed to find his way to Summer. It's going to be a longer process for you all, but thankfully Bran's strength and your connection with the wolves will make it easier than we had originally feared. Lie back, close your eyes…and try not to be afraid."

* * *

Catelyn Stark had originally been a week away from King's Landing when word reached her of her nephew's sudden death. With Rickon and Arya in her company, Catelyn had ordered their party led by Brienne of Tarth and Ser Robar Royce of the Kingsguard to quicken their pace. Her sister Lysa was rumored to have been a mindless vegetable in the Red Keep, and again Catelyn wished that Ned still lived. He would have held her in his arms and he would have made everything better, or tried his hardest to. No one was waiting for them when they arrived at the city gates, everyone having expected them a few days later. Even the castle itself seemed strangely quiet and hollow. She had expected Robb or Jon or even Margaery to come find her, but it had been her uncle Brynden instead, a sight for sore eyes if Catelyn had ever seen one. It was Brynden who organized Arya and Rickon being settled into their chambers, Brynden who told Catelyn that Bran had arrived in King's Landing shortly Robert and Lysa had, and Brynden who led Catelyn to Lysa's chambers in Maegor's Holdfast.

"She's not…she's not _all_ there, Cat. Robert's death…it's completely broken her. Be prepared for what you will see…" Brynden cautioned his niece, before opening the great oaken door to allow Catelyn inside Lysa's chambers. Robb had done his best to accommodate his aunt, the chambers were lavish but gone to waste as Lysa simply sat up in her bed murmuring to herself.

"Gods be good, Lysa…" Catelyn breathed out in horror, covering her gasp with her fingers before rushing forth to sit by her sister's bedside.

"Lysa? Lysa, look at me. Lysa, please…" Catelyn sat right in front of her sister, trying to take her hand only for Lysa to remain muttering to herself, staring past Catelyn with a dead-eyed gaze.

"What has Robb said…?" Catelyn asked her uncle, her voice cracking with the emotional burden of seeing her sister so lost from reality.

"He's removed her from the Eyrie, of course," Brynden sighed, glancing to Lysa as he and Catelyn left the chambers together "I counseled him to keep her here. There's-…there's not really anywhere else she can go."

"What of the Eyrie? Is she not Lady of the Vale?"

"Not per Robb's declaration. As soon as Robert-…well, as soon as it happened, there was no way Lysa had any claim to the Eyrie. There is much doubt amongst the court of Robert's true parentage as it is."

" _What?_ " Catelyn snapped, how dare the members of court speculate so brazenly about their King's aunt? Had they no respect for Robb?

"Robb himself is convinced of this, Cat. And in truth…as am I. The boy…he looked like Petyr. Every day more and more." Brynden Tully had had a hand in raising his brother's brood of children, he had see Petyr Baelish grow up amongst his nieces and nephew, and he could see Petyr in Robert Arryn as clear as day. Catelyn however stopped in her tracks to stare at her uncle in disbelief.

"Uncle…you cannot be-…you must be-." Brynden merely sighed, and placed an affectionate arm around Catelyn's shoulders as they continued to walk.

"It matters not now, little Cat. Robb intends to bury Robert with full honors as an Arryn, but the Eyrie and the Vale will go to Jon Arryn's niece's boy. Harrold I think his name is."

"I need to see Bran…" Catelyn said a little while later, trying and failing to process all that had happened. How had things changed so much for her? Three years ago, she had expected Robb to come to his lordship when he was a man grown, she had expected Ned to die in her arms of old age. Now Robb was King of them all, she still didn't have faith that her son was wise enough to rule, but wherever she looked she saw lords and ladies who worshipped him. Even her own uncle had a proud glint in his eye whenever he spoke about Robb. Perhaps Catelyn was not giving her boy enough faith…

* * *

 _Author's Note: I want to thank each and every one of you who have read this story up till now, and especially those of you who have taken the time to leave a review. I really do appreciate every single one of them, and I spend hours after I publish a chapter just refreshing my page to see if a new review has been left :D_

 _So the next chapter will probably have a small time skip where the Stark siblings have managed to JUST access their powers, and are about to sail off for Essos._

 _ **PLEASE DO REVIEW XOXO**_


	19. Chapter 19 - The Others

_**Author's Note: Hey everyone, so this update took a while because I originally intended to just include a snippet of my theories regarding the Others for the story. However this segment really blew out of control, and I spent the past few days trying to really nut out my theory and explanation for the Long Night and for the Others in my story. I really hope that I have presented my theory in a clear concise way in this chapter, and if I haven't, please do message me or leave a review and I will try to explain myself further. Happy reading!**_

* * *

"Mother!" a chorus practically greeted Catelyn Stark when she entered the royal family's private dining hall. Though she had also not seen Robb and Sansa in some time, it was Bran who Catelyn had eyes for. Sweet, loving Bran whom she had not seen since he had woken. Whilst Arya hugged Jon and Robb, and Rickon flew towards Sansa, Catelyn began to weep. Bran's smile faltered, as did those of his siblings, who looked confused for several moments as to why their mother was crying. Catelyn had not seen the effects of Brandon's injury until that moment, and seeing her boy rolling himself in the chair broke her heart. Robb, who had his arm around Arya's shoulder, looked down to her in hopes she knew what was happening, only to receive a shrug from his youngest sister.

"Mother…" Robb tried, moving forward to place a comforting hand on his mother's shoulder, only to have her shake her head as she quickly composed herself.

"Please forgive me. I have just-…it's-…come here, Bran." Catelyn wiped her eyes before moving forward to bend and embrace her son in his chair, where Bran understood at once his mother's woe and held her back tightly.

"I'm alright. I promise you." He whispered, before kissing her cheek. Catelyn internally thanked the Gods that her Bran was still the sweet boy she loved. Arya greeted her brother next, looking at him for a moment without anything to say. Arya and Bran had always been close, having played together and caused more mischief together than their other siblings combined, so Arya found it similarly difficult to see Bran the way he was now, but tried to play it off as she hugged him and ruffled his hair.

"Lady Stark, it is good to see you again." Queen Margaery's eldest brother Willas Tyrell, who was in attendance with their brother Garlan and Garlan's wife Leonette, had stood respectfully to greet the King's mother.

"We were so sorry to hear of your father, my lady." Leonette, ever the soul of courtesy, clasped her hands before her to speak sorrowfully to Catelyn who gave the dainty young noblewoman a small smile.

"You are most kind, Lady Leonette. Please return to your meals, I had not intended to disrupt the affair."

"Nonsense. Have three more places set for my mother, brother and sister." Robb ordered of one of the cupbearers in the chambers, who bowed her head instantly and vanished to get cutlery as Catelyn, Arya and Rickon took their seats at the grand mahogany table. Robb and Margaery sat in the center upon two throne-like chairs whilst the family scattered around them.

"My word, Margaery you must be six months along now." Catelyn commented to her daughter by law, who had a gentle hand placed upon her swollen belly. Margaery and Robb exchanged a small, happy glance before she answered.

"Four or five, the Grand Maester says, my lady. The Grand Maester also believes from the way I am carrying…that it is twins." Only Bran and Jon had known of the Grand Maester's diagnosis for the longest time, the rest of the family happily received these tidings by joyfully raising a toast to Margaery and Robb who squeezed each other's hands beneath the table.

"So, Bran, how was your tour of the North? Did the Northern Lords respect your authority as Lord of Winterfell?" Catelyn inquired a little while later as she began to cut into her chicken. Almost everyone else in the room looked up at her question, for half of them knew that Bran had truly gone Beyond-the-Wall, whilst Catelyn still remained ignorant.

"It was-…um…it was good, mother. The Northmen were still reverent of Robb and father, and treated me with honor." Lying did not come easily to Bran, especially when it was with Catelyn who instantly saw Bran looking down to his feet as he spoke. Her brow furrowed, but Catelyn decided to say nothing for the moment.

The rest of the dinner progressed with the Starks building a closer bond with their new Tyrell family. Rickon took a particular shine to Garlan and Leonette, a young couple who were trying for children of their own that adored little Rickon the moment they met him. Margaery was of course now beloved by Sansa, and was slowly working her way through Arya's tough exterior. She had made much headway before Arya had gone to Riverrun, and was pleased to see that Arya was still reciprocating now. Soon little Rickon fell asleep on Lady Leonette's shoulder, and Catelyn had smiled and followed when Garlan and Leonette had asked to be able to take him to bed. Willas wished to walk the castle walls and Sansa had wished to join him, despite the light teasing she received from her siblings on the way out. Robb dismissed the servants, until finally he and Margaery were left alone with Jon, Arya and Bran.

"Your mother needs to know where Bran truly was." Margaery said almost instantly, causing Arya to perk up and the Stark men to sigh and shuffle in their seats uncomfortably; admitting a lie to Catelyn Stark was no easy thing. Even Jon knew that.

"Where was Bran?" Arya's question caused Bran to widen his eyes.

"You didn't know?" Arya merely shook her head, giving Robb and Jon a reproachful look. They had been in Winterfell together, and they had both lied to Arya about where Bran was. Robb and Jon merely gave each other guilty looks before Margaery spoke once more.

"This is what I mean, Robb. Who _does_ know? She's going to find out soon enough, and if she doesn't find out from you there will be all Seven Hells to pay."

"Where was Bran?" Arya repeated her question, causing a frustrated Robb to lean back in his seat and gesture with his hand to Bran to tell Arya the tale. Robb himself turned his head to engage in a quiet discussion with his wife.

"I was Beyond-the-Wall-."

" _What?!_ Robb! Jon! You let him-?!"

"Arya, I had to. I had no choice, please just calm down and listen to me." Bran cut off Arya before she could lay into her brothers about the foolishness of letting Bran go somewhere so dangerous in his state. Bran was not that much younger than Arya, but she still felt a strong sense of protectiveness over him, a protectiveness that was greatly being challenged as Bran told Arya his story.

"-We finally reached the cave…but by then all the horses had died. Hal, Tomas and Grover still lived, as did Derryk, Gallum and Conner, the Reed guardsmen. We were in the middle of a blizzard, Jojen was beginning to lose hope, Jojen who had given me the courage to step out at all…"

* * *

 _Jojen fell to his knees in the snow, the wind cruelly whipped past him even there, breaking his will even further. Meera rushed to his side, her feet sinking into the snow up to her knees until finally she was beside him._

 _"We have to stop!" She screamed over the wind, but still he could only barely hear her. Bran, strapped to a saddle that Hodor diligently pulled, called for the guardsmen to stop._

 _"Help Jojen!" he roared, sending Derryk, Gallum and Conner, three lanky crannogmen hurrying back to their lord and lady._

 _"Lord Stark!" Grover's voice strangely carried over to Bran from his place at the top of the hill "We've found it!"_

 _And sure enough when Hodor pulled Bran's sled up to the top of the hill, there it was: A gigantic weirwood tree sitting atop a hilled cave. The sun, which had been hidden to them for so long, came out from behind the clouds to bathe the tree in an ethereal, serene glow._

 _"Jojen!" Bran called over his shoulder, only to see that his friend was standing beside him with a look of emotional awe upon his gaunt features. The light of the sun panned across the hill they stood on to bathe the group in its rays, and Bran felt his eyes began to fill with tears. He never thought they'd actually make it, he had always had a doubt that this was all a fantasy and that he was leading his party to their deaths. But now…now looking at the tree, he knew he was right. He knew Jojen was right._

 _"Let's go." Bran breathed, and despite the wind that whipped around them, the whole party heard his words and began a quick descent down the hill towards the cave and the tree. Summer the direwolf was the first to trot across the small flatland between them and the cave, turning to linger by the cave mouth and stare back at the straggling party._

 _"Protect your lord and lady, good sers." Bran ordered of the crannogmen, who supported the weak Jojen and kept their hands on their swords as they walked. Meera herself walked behind Jojen with her spear in hand. The Stark guardsmen kept close to Bran, for everyone felt the tension in the air as they approached their destination. It was palpable, for even the sun that had encouraged them only moments ago had vanished. The cold winds were rising as a mist began to form at their ankles, Bran however urged Hodor to push forth…until a skeletal hand broke through the frost and snow of the ground to clutch at the ankle of Meera Reed, who screamed in shock before she fell._

 _"Meera!" Bran and Jojen screamed in unison as a wight hauled itself up from the ground to try and attack Meera, only for the Lady of Greywater Watch to impale the undead creature with her spear, causing the rotting bones to collapse. More and more wights began to burst through the snow by then, causing Hodor to begin to panic and the guardsmen as well._

 _"Fight them! Grover! Hal! Tomas! Fight them!" Bran roared at his guards, who leapt into action when they heard their lord's voice. Grover and Tomas charged forward to assist the crannogmen while Hal remained at Bran's side._

 _"Hodor! Go to the cave! Now!" Hal roared to the stableboy, who picked up Bran's sled and made to hurry forward with Hal charging behind._

 _"Get Lord Jojen and Lady Meera to safety!" Derryk, the commander of the Reed guardsmen roared at his soldiers as his sword broke a skeletal wight into a dozen pieces. Conner rushed to wrap an arm around Jojen's middle, smashing the skull of a legless wight with his foot as he ran. Gallum however screamed as a wight's axe buried itself in his back, his scream turned to a death gurgle as he collapsed and the wight who killed him removed his axe to charge after Meera Reed, who had taken an injury to her leg and was desperately trying to crawl away. A high, sharp whistle caused all the wights to momentarily freeze until a flying ball of fire shot into the chest of the wight hovering over Meera, making it explode into ash. The mortals turned their heads to the mouth of the cave where a small, slight little girl conjured another fireball in her hands and hurled it at a wight that was charging towards an unsuspecting Brandon Stark. For a wild moment Bran thought it was his sister Arya, until he saw that the little girl was no girl at all but a humanoid creature of some sort._

 _"Come with me, Brandon Stark!" the creature, which had nut brown skin and large eyes of liquid gold and vivid green that were slitted like a cat's urged Brandon before throwing another fireball out from her hands._

 _"Move! Quickly!" Bran roared, sending Hodor scurrying forward with Hal right behind Bran's sled. Conner, Meera and Jojen Reed were right behind him, with the crannogman all but carrying his lord in his arms. Grover, Tomas and Derryk came next, running for all Seven Hells away from the undead horde that pursued them. Tomas tragically stumbled over a hipbone of a broken wight, sending him sprawling into the snow just as two wights launched onto his back and began to maul him. Grover and Derryk could only helplessly look back at his dying screams as they ran to safety. The creature urged them all into the cave before throwing out two more balls of fire into the bodies of Tomas and Gallum, burning them before they could turn into wights themselves. The mortals pressed themselves back into the cave as the creature stood before them, her hands alight with fire, the wights charged through the cave entrance and fell apart instantly, their bones smashing into the stone walls and floor uselessly._

 _"The power that moves them is powerless here. They cannot follow us." The creature turned, the balls of fire dying away in her hands as she faced the group of humans._

 _"Who are you?" Bran asked, his voice shaking with adrenaline and fear, though he seemed to be the only one strong enough to speak at that moment. The creature seemed to smile, taking a step towards Bran as she answered. Her hair was a tangle of brown and red and gold, autumn colors with vines and twigs and withered flowers woven through it. Around her shoulders was a cloak of leaves._

 _"The First Men called us the Children of the Forest. But we were born long before them. The giants called us_ woh dak nag gran _, the squirrel people, because we were small and quick and fond of trees, but we are not squirrels and no children. Our name in the True Tongue means_ those who sing the song of the earth _. Before your Old Tongue was ever spoken, we had sung our songs ten thousand years."_

 _"You speak the Common Tongue now." Meera Reed pointed out, pushing herself up into standing position behind Bran with a grunt. The child of the forest merely smiled again, gesturing to Bran as she spoke._

 _"For him. Brandon Stark. I was born in the time of the dragon, and for two hundred years I walked the world of men, to watch and to listen and learn. I might be walking still, but my legs were sore and my heart was so weary, so I turned my feet for home."_

 _"Two hundred years?" Meera asked, only to receive a smile from the child in turn._

 _"Men are the true children, Meera Reed."_

 _"Do you have a name?" Bran asked as Meera paled from the child using her own name._

 _"When I am needing one." The child said, before turning to light a ball of flame in her hand once more and illuminate a passage in the cave that the group had not previously seen. "Our way is down. You must come with me now. It is warmer down deep, and he is waiting for you. No one will hurt you down there."_

 _"Who is waiting for me?"_

 _"The three-eyed-raven." Jojen breathed, clutching his arm as he hauled himself up as well._

 _"The greenseer." Was all the child said in response to Jojen before turning around and setting off. There were many side passages after that, impossible chambers carved into the cave beneath the tree, and Bran heard dripping water somewhere to his right. When he looked off that way, he saw eyes looking back at them, slitted eyes that glowed bright, reflecting back the torchlight. More children, he told himself, the girl is not the only one. The roots were everywhere, twisting through earth and stone, closing off some passages and holding up the roofs of others. The world was black soil and white wood. The heart tree at Winterfell had roots as thick as a giant's legs, but these were even thicker._

 _The fire light dwindled. Small as she was, the child-who-was-not-a-child moved quickly when she wanted. As Hodor thumped after her, something crunched beneath his feet. His halt was so sudden that Hal and Grover almost slammed into his back._

 _"Bones," said Bran. "It's bones." The floor of the passage was littered with the bones of birds and beasts. But there were other bones as well, big ones that must have come from giants and small ones that could have been from children. On either side of them, in niches carved from the stone, skulls looked down on them. Bran saw a bear skull and a wolf skull, half a dozen human skulls and near as many giants. All the rest were small, queerly formed._ Children of the forest _. The roots had grown in and around and through them, every one. A few had ravens perched atop them, watching them pass with bright black eyes._

 _The last part of their dark journey was the steepest. Hodor made the final descent on his arse, bumping and sliding downward in a clatter of broken bones, loose dirt, and pebbles. The girl child was waiting for them, standing on one end of a natural bridge above a yawning chasm. Down below in the darkness, Bran heard the sound of rushing water. An underground river._

 _"Do we have to cross?" Bran asked, as the soldiers and the Reeds came sliding down behind him. The prospect frightened him. If Hodor slipped on that narrow bridge, they would fall and fall._

 _"No, boy," the child said. "Behind you." She lifted her torch higher, and the light seemed to shift and change. One moment the flames burned orange and yellow, filling the cavern with a ruddy glow; then all the colors faded, leaving only black and white. Behind them Meera gasped. Hodor turned. The men cursed under their breaths and huddled together._

 _Before them a pale lord in ebon finery sat dreaming in a tangled nest of roots, a woven weirwood throne that embraced his withered limbs as a mother does a child._

 _"Are you the three-eyed raven?" Bran heard himself say. A three-eyed raven should have three eyes. He has only one, and that one red. Bran could feel the eye staring at him, shining like a pool of blood in the torchlight. Where his other eye should have been, a thin white root grew from an empty socket, down his cheek, and into his neck._

 _"A ... raven?" The pale lord's voice was dry. His lips moved slowly, as if they had forgotten how to form words. "Once, aye. They called me raven. They also called me crow. Black of garb and black of blood." The clothes he wore were rotten and faded, spotted with moss and eaten through with worms, but once they had been black. "I have been many things, Bran. Now I am as you see me, and now you will understand why I could not come to you ... except in dreams. I have watched you for a long time, watched you with a thousand eyes and one. I saw your birth, and that of your brothers and lord father before you. I saw your first step, heard your first word, was part of your first dream. I was watching when you fell. And now you are come to me at last, Brandon Stark, though the hour is late."_

 _"I'm here," Bran said, "only I'm broken. Will you ... will you fix me ... my legs, I mean?"_

 _"No," said the pale lord. "That is beyond my powers."_

 _Bran's eyes filled with tears. We came such a long way. The chamber echoed to the sound of the black river._

 _"You will never walk again, Bran," the pale lips promised, "but you will fly."_

* * *

"Fly?" Arya asked in bewilderment, causing Bran to snap out of his daze for a moment and look up to see that Robb, Jon, Margaery and Arya were staring at him intently, completely enthralled in his tale. Bran smiled at Arya, and contemplated how best to explain before he chose to show her instead. He blinked, sending his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Arya gasped, throwing herself back in her seat until she saw Summer's eyes flash white as well. Bran's direwolf rose to very purposefully trot over from where he was dozing to sit before Arya and place a large, gentle paw on her lap.

"Bran…?" Arya breathed in disbelief, before looking from the wolf to Bran's unmoving body and then to Robb and Jon who said nothing. Bran blinked, returning to his body before taking a deep breath and steadying himself in his chair.

"And soon, Arya. You will fly as well." Bran promised to his speechless sister. Margaery, who had watched everything occur, was pale and troubled. She clutched at Robb's hand and squeezed it once, enough for Robb to understand that Margaery wished to leave.

"I think that's it for tonight, family. Margaery and I are going to bed. Jon-."

"I'll stay up a bit longer. I have-…I want to ask Bran a bit more." Jon said, pursing his lips. Robb merely nodded, offering Margaery his hand to help her rise. The Queen, ever gracious, bowed her head to her siblings by law before wrapping her arm around Robb's and following him from the dining hall.

"That was terrifying." Margaery said when they were finally alone in their chambers. "That's what he's been teaching you? To-to-to get _inside_ Grey-Wind?" Margaery asked, taking the lapels of Robb's black and grey doublet in her hands as he placed his hands on her hips. Robb could only shrug, for after the few days of training he had had with Bran, he had only managed to slip inside Grey-Wind's head once, and even then he had returned to his own body instantly and began to dry-retch. Jon and Sansa had had the same problems, and all three were already extremely weary from their training.

"Not just Grey-Wind…it's…Bran can-…Bran can do it to any animal. He's the most powerful, and of all of us he is the only one who has the greensight."

"Robb…I supported you, but this is all-…it's terrifying, its too much. What world are we bringing our children in to?" she asked desperately, only to have her strong, soothing husband take her in his arms and plant a kiss on her forehead.

"A world that I will make safer for them, and for you, my love. I promise you. To ignore the darkness…it would only allow it to grow stronger. I will fight for the good, I will fight for my children to grow in a world where they won't have to face the horrors I do."

"You're too good a man, Robb Stark. Why is it your responsibility?" Margaery sighed, nuzzling herself into his chest as they held each other in the middle of their chambers.

"Because evil triumphs when good people do nothing, my Queen. Even my father, the best man I will ever know, sat idle in Winterfell as Westeros rotted around him. Robert Baratheon may have been a good man once, but his decadence bred senseless corruption. Jon Arryn only worked to keep the realm stable, he did not work to change things. I will not be the same. _We_ will not be the same."

"No. We won't." Margaery leaned up to kiss her husband, whom she found incredibly attractive at that moment because of his impassioned speech to change Westeros. Robb's power, and the way he was settling into becoming King made Margaery incredibly proud of her gallant wolf.

* * *

"So what are they? The Others…the Walkers…did he tell you? The-…what did you call him? The old man wrapped in the roots?" Jon asked as he, Bran and Arya sat in Bran's chambers after having left the dining hall. Arya was seated on Bran's bed whilst Jon had dragged a chair over.

"The Voice." Bran said.

"Why _the Voice_?" Arya asked with a furrowed brow, glancing between her brothers.

"He was a man once. He was a bastard son of King Aegon the Unworthy. They called him Bloodraven."

" _Bloodraven_?!" Jon's exclamation caused Arya and Bran to jump and look at him "Sorry. Its just-…I knew of him. He was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"He was. But he disappeared on a ranging. He chose to leave when he saw what was to come. His powers…his magic that he possessed, it attracted him to the Old Gods, to the Children. They sought him out on his ranging. I don't know what happened after that, but they say he offered himself to the Gods. He gave his body to the weirwood, and the Children say that the Old Gods speak through him now."

"And he's…what? Dead?" Arya asked, her tone still marred with confusion.

"No. They say he is one of them now, and that his…soul, his conscience, whatever you want to call it…it's joined the Old Gods. And so because his body still exists in a somewhat mortal form, he is The Voice. The Voice of the Gods. It's a bit fanatical, I admit…but its what I was told."

"I struggle to wrap my head around it." Jon said, causing Arya to snort and nod in agreement.

"Wait till you hear what they told me of the Others…" Bran sighed, before soldiering on. "The Children of the Forest, well…they were here long before us. They were here since the Dawn Age and even before, before kings and kingdoms, in those days, there were no castles or holdfasts, cities, not so much as a market town to be found between Winterfell and the sea of Dorne. There were no men at all. Only the children of the forest dwelt in these lands we now call the Seven Kingdoms."

"You sound like Old Nan." Arya teased, causing Bran and Jon to both laugh before Bran threw his pillow at Arya who caught it and threw it back with a grin.

"Hush now. I want to hear this." Jon said, getting up to sit on the other end of Bran's bed.

"You both know what happened. The First Men came, and they fought for thousands of years over who would rule Westeros. The Children shattered the Arm of Dorne with their magic and tried do the same at the Neck, but only succeeded in turning the Neck into swamped marshland. They fought until they signed the Pact at the Isle of Faces. The peace treaty between the First Men and the Children lasted for four thousand years, they told me. And the Starks of Winterfell came to be founded in that time of peace. Bran the Builder was a boy born of the blood of the First Men and the blood of the Children of the Forest. He was strong, he was smart, they say he won friends easily and that his counsel came to be the wisest in the land. He built Winterfell and they crowned him King of Winter. However, there were many who did not like the pact, and who did not want peace. Many from both sides of the war. The First Men kept their dissenters at bay, for the men had shed too much bled to wish for any more warfare. The Children drove their dissenters North. These were Children of the Forest who had grown bitter, angry and hateful of Man and all the atrocities they committed against the Old Gods, against the Children and against the land. They were driven North to the curtain of the world, and forced to stay away." Bran explained before pausing to reach for a goblet of water on his bedside and take a sip.

"I can already tell where this is going…" Jon commented wryly, before exchanging a glance with Arya and silencing himself to continue to listen to Bran's explanation.

"This group of Children were large in number, and soon they came to be known as the "Others". The Others who did not want peace, the Others who were not part of the true Children of the Forest. They went North and the Voice of the Gods told me…that they found something there."

"What?" Arya asked quietly, causing Bran to lick his dry lips before continuing.

"They found evil. What I truly think they mean…is that they found evil in themselves. Leaf, one of the Children in the cave, she explained to me that her people had always had magic. And magic is-."

"Like a sword without a hilt." Jon offered, remembering words that Mance Rayder's wife Dalla had spoken to him in a tent many months ago.

"Exactly." Bran smiled before sighing again "These 'Other' Children…they became warped and twisted by their hate, driven only by their desire to destroy Man. But in their hatred, the Old Gods could not allow them to continue and forsook them. Their magic was taken from them for some time until it is said that they sought the power of the Old Gods' enemy."

"What…? What could possibly be their enemy? Father never said-…?"

"The Old Gods are not like Mother's Seven Gods, with their rules and their sermons. The Old Gods are true…their powers are of the earth, of the stone, of the water, and of the trees. Their powers are of peace, nature, it is a religion based on the overwhelming principle of good. The Old Gods only ever want peace and light. Their enemy…wants peace in darkness, peace without light, peace brought by pain and misery. Their enemy is death. And the Others, they tapped into the powers of death-magic…and they changed. They evolved to become something that the other Children are not. They became taller, stronger, impossible creatures of horror, darkness and ice. They became everything their brethren were not, where the Children have the powers of fire and control over beasts and land, the Others have control of the undead and of ice and snow."

"Good Gods…" Jon breathed in dismay as Arya visibly paled.

"They were led by one at first. One 'Other' who sought to serve the cold and the darkness, and bring an end to all things that was warm and lived and loved. He built an army over dozens of years and marched it south, destroying village after village until they came upon Winterfell. Bran the Builder only just managed to escape with his forces when they destroyed it. Watching his castle fall and his people die, Bran the Builder resolved to find the good Children, who had gone underground in the years since the Pact. Bran took a large party with him, but they all died on their journey. Only Bran survived. The Children saved him just before the Others could take him, and together they used their ancient magics to find and forge dragonglass; frozen fire taken from the earth. Bran led the First Men and the Children in battle, and drove the Others back. They slew many of the Others, it was said, until only two score were left. Two score who disappeared in the North before the Children and the First Men could find them. It was then that Bran the Builder built the Wall. He called on the giants and he used the Children's magic that was known to him. He took a bride that was also a Child of the Forest, and they rebuilt Winterfell together after that. But he always knew, they _all_ always knew that the Others would return. They've just been waiting, biding their time, waiting for us to grow weaker as they grow stronger. They've built an army of undead so vast that it haunts me as I wake as well as when I sleep." A long tense moment of silence followed Bran's explanation as Arya and Jon tried to process the weight of his words.

"But-…who leads them now…?" Arya finally asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

"You won't believe me when I tell you this." Bran chuckled sadly, causing Jon and Arya to raise their eyebrows.

"It's a Stark. Not only that. It's a Brandon Stark."

"What in the Seven Hells are you talking about Bran?" Jon demanded, only for Bran to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Do you remember the story of the Night's King that Old Nan used to tell us?"

"Of course." Jon and Arya chorused together

"Well, most of it is true. The Night's King had been the thirteenth man to lead the Night's Watch, a warrior who knew no fear."

" _And that was the fault in him_ ," Arya said, remembering Old Nan's words

" _For all men must know fear_." Jon continued, glancing from Arya to Bran as he spoke. The siblings smiled momentarily, remembering easier times in Winterfell when they had gathered around Old Nan to listen to her stories before bed. Easier times when Ned and Catelyn had oft joined them to chuckle at the outlandish things they heard, or more often they would play along to entertain the children. Bran sighed, before looking up to Jon.

"Aye. He had been a Brandon Stark, a second son to the King of Winter. Back then the Watch was a noble order of the North. It was an honor to serve them. Fierce men, and a Stark was needed amongst their ranks. This Brandon, bold and strong, he rode off as soon as he was of age and rose to become their leader. However…a 'woman' was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. Old Nan never realized how right she was when said that…because as soon as this Brandon Stark laid with the woman white walker, he lost all that he was. He turned instantly and became one of them. His skin turned white and his eyes became blue. She took his warmth and turned him to their side. He in turn brought her back to the Nightfort and proclaimed her a queen and himself her king, and with strange sorceries he bound his Sworn Brothers to his will. For thirteen years they had ruled, Night's King and his corpse queen, till finally his elder brother, the Stark of Winterfell and King Joramun of the wildlings had joined to free the Watch from their bondage. It was an incredible war, the Wall was besieged from both sides and the Stark of Winterfell himself killed the Night's Queen. However, the Night's King saw this and killed his elder brother in turn. It was too late though, as his nephew took up his father's sword and drove the Night's King and his surviving allies back into the Frozen North. He found the rest of the Others…and it's him who rules them now, him who leads them towards us. He serves the Great Other not because he believes in the powers of death and evil, he serves because he wants to kill all of us who live, and breathe, and love; we took his love away from him, he will never forgive that. He is the Night's King, and all he wants is death and darkness."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Phwoar, that was a lot of writing. Here's a summary of my theory if you didn't understand it from above:**_

 _ **I believe that the Others are a twisted, warped division of the Children of the Forest who found and exploited death-magic in the Lands of Always Winter after the Pact was signed between the First Men and the Children. I believe that the Night's King leads them now because he is driven by the purest of all motivators: love and vengeance. The humans killed his creepy-blue-bride, now he wants to kill all living things to serve the Great Other (Death, Evil, Broccoli etc)**_

 _ **Please do leave a review! :)**_


	20. Chapter 20 - Setting Off for Meereen

The clear days that King's Landing had been enjoying were countered by the freezing nights as temperatures slowly dropped across Westeros. As a golden sun set in a pink and purple sky, the Stark children filed out of the Godswood accompanied by Jojen Reed. Ghost, Grey-Wind, Shaggydog and Summer trotted beside their weary masters, for the Starks had been pushed to their limits from the training Bran was giving them. After all the days they had spent, only Jon had been able to sustain a connection with Ghost for longer than a minute. Robb and Grey-Wind were just short of that time, while the girls maintained short bursts in Summer and Shaggydog, whom Rickon had lent to Arya until she was strong enough to control Nymeria again. Ser Robar and Brienne of Tarth were diligently waiting on the torch-lit path to guard the royal family back into the castle as Robb pushed Bran's chair, while looking incredibly pale.

"I feel awful." Robb murmured, leading Bran to sigh and curl his lips. Bran truly felt terrible for what his family was going through, and wished every day to ease the process, but the visions that he and Jojen were having did not give them the freedom to slow down, so Bran was forced to watch as his siblings suffered from the strenuous effects of warging.

"I'm sorry…" Bran muttered into his lap, Robb in turn sighed and moved a hand from the handlebar of Bran's chair to squeeze his brother's shoulder.

"I don't blame you, Bran. None of us do. You're teaching us something… _impossible_. I can't even believe what we've achieved in the last few days. I mean…seeing through Grey-Wind…not just in my dreams? It's…it's _madness_."

"Its not madness, Robb. Its magic." Bran smiled, raising his hand to squeeze Robb's.

* * *

Dany broke her fast under the persimmon tree that grew in the terrace garden, watching her dragons chase each other about the apex of the Great Pyramid where the huge bronze harpy once stood, before her freedmen had brought it toppling down. Meereen had a score of lesser pyramids, but none stood even half as tall as this one. From here she could see the whole city: the narrow twisty alleys and wide brick streets, the temples and granaries, hovels and palaces, brothels and baths, gardens and fountains, the great red circles of the fighting pits. And beyond the walls was the pewter sea, the winding Skahazadhan, the dry brown hills, burnt orchards, and blackened fields. Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world.

 _Do all gods feel so lonely?_ Some must, surely. Missandei had told her of the Lord of Harmony, worshiped by the Peaceful People of Naath; he was the only true god, her little scribe said, the god who always was and always would be, who made the moon and stars and earth, and all the creatures that dwelt upon them. Poor Lord of Harmony. Dany pitied him. It must be terrible to be alone for all time, attended by hordes of butterfly women you could make or unmake at a word. Westeros had seven gods at least, though Viserys had told her that some septons said the seven were only aspects of a single god, seven facets of a single crystal. That was just confusing. The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war.

When she was dressed, Missandei brought her a polished silver glass so she could see how she looked. Dany stared at herself in silence. Is this the face of a conqueror? So far as she could tell, she still looked like a little girl.

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons, but she had taken Meereen in less than a day when her Unsullied snuck in through the sewers of the city to arm the slaves with steel. The city had revolted internally, with the gates being opened by the slaves to allow Daenerys's army through.

Dany had wanted to lead the attack herself, but to a man her captains said that would be madness, and her captains never agreed on anything. Instead she remained in the rear, sitting atop her silver in a long shirt of mail. She heard the city fall from half a league away, though, when the defenders' shouts of defiance changed to cries of fear. Her dragons had roared as one in that moment, filling the night with flame. _The slaves are rising_ , she knew at once. _My sewer rats have gnawed off their chains._

In the plaza before the Great Pyramid, the Meereenese huddled forlorn when she arrived. The Great Masters had looked anything but great in the morning light. Stripped of their jewels and their fringed tokars, they were contemptible; a herd of old men with shriveled balls and spotted skin and young men with ridiculous hair. Their women were either soft and fleshy or as dry as old sticks, their face paint streaked by tears. "I want your leaders," Dany told them. "Give them up, and the rest of you shall be spared."

"How many?" one old woman had asked, sobbing. "How many must you have to spare us?"

"One hundred and sixty-three," she answered.

She had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each man pointing at the next. The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command; it made her feel like an avenging dragon. But later, when she passed the men dying on the posts, when she heard their moans and smelled their bowels and blood . . .

Dany put the glass aside, frowning. _It was just. It was. I did it for the children._

She ventured into her audience hall in the Great Pyramid, a grand a beautiful chamber that was well-guarded by her Unsullied and Second Sons.

"Was the night as quiet as it seemed?" Dany asked.

"It seems it was, Your Grace," said Brown Ben Plumm with a smile. He had been a member of Daario's Second Sons, happy with his rank and happy to command his troops amongst the two-thousand until he had been appointed to guard Daenerys one day, and she had taken a liking to him. Daario raised him to Captain and Dany no counted him amongst her loyal council. Ben was an aging brown-skinned man, but still fit with grey-white hair and a face weathered from the years of battle.

She was pleased. Meereen had been sacked savagely, as new-fallen cities always were, but Dany was determined that should end now that the city was hers. She had decreed that murderers were to be hanged, that looters were to lose a hand, and rapists their manhood. Eight killers swung from the walls, and the Unsullied had filled a bushel basket with bloody hands and soft red worms, but Meereen was calm again. But for how long?

A fly buzzed her head. Dany waved it off, irritated, but it returned almost at once. "There are too many flies in this city."

Ben Plumm gave a bark of laughter. "There were flies in my ale this morning. I swallowed one of them."

"Flies are the dead man's revenge." Daario smiled, and stroked the center prong of his beard. "Corpses breed maggots, and maggots breed flies."

"We will rid ourselves of the corpses, then. Starting with those in the plaza below. Grey Worm, will you see to it?"

"The queen commands, these ones obey."

"Best bring sacks as well as shovels, Worm," Ben counseled. "Well past ripe, those ones. Falling off those poles in bits and pieces, and crawling with . . . "

"He knows. So do I." Dany remembered

"Your Grace," said Missandei, "Ghiscari inter their honored dead in crypts below their manses. If you would boil the bones clean and return them to their kin, it would be a kindness."

The widows will curse me all the same. "Let it be done." Dany beckoned to Daario. "How many seek audience this morning?"

"Only one. One who claims to speak for Astapor."

"I will see the envoy first then, before we turn to affairs of state."

He proved to be a pale ferret-faced man with ropes of pearls and spun gold hanging heavy about his neck. "Your Worship!" he cried. "My name is Ghael. I bring greetings to the Mother of Dragons from King Cleon of Astapor, Cleon the Great."

Dany stiffened. "I left a council to rule Astapor. A healer, a scholar, and a priest."

"Your Worship, those sly rogues betrayed your trust. It was revealed that they were scheming to restore the Good Masters to power and the people to chains. Great Cleon exposed their plots and hacked their heads off with a cleaver, and the grateful folk of Astapor have crowned him for his valor."

"Noble Ghael," said Missandei, in the dialect of Astapor, "is this the same Cleon once owned by Grazdan mo Ullhor?"

Her voice was guileless, yet the question plainly made the envoy anxious. "The same," he admitted. "A great man."

Missandei leaned close to Dany. "He was a butcher in Grazdan's kitchen," the girl whispered in her ear. "It was said he could slaughter a pig faster than any man in Astapor."

 _I have given Astapor a butcher king._ Dany felt ill, but she knew she must not let the envoy see it. "I will pray that King Cleon rules well and wisely. What would he have of me?"

Ghael rubbed his mouth. "Perhaps we should speak more privily, Your Grace?"

"I have no secrets from my captains and commanders."

"As you wish. Great Cleon bids me declare his devotion to the Mother of Dragons. Your enemies are his enemies, he says, and chief among them are the Wise Masters of Yunkai. He proposes a pact between Astapor and Meereen, against the Yunkai'i."

"I swore no harm would come to Yunkai if they released their slaves," said Dany.

"These Yunkish dogs cannot be trusted, Your Worship. Even now they plot against you. New levies have been raised and can be seen drilling outside the city walls, warships are being built, envoys have been sent to New Ghis and Volantis in the west, to make alliances and hire sellswords. They have even dispatched riders to Vaes Dothrak to bring a khalasar down upon you. Great Cleon bid me tell you not to be afraid. Astapor remembers. Astapor will not forsake you. To prove his faith, Great Cleon offers to seal your alliance with a marriage."

"A marriage? To me?"

Ghael smiled. His teeth were brown and rotten. "Great Cleon will give you many strong sons."

Dany found herself bereft of words, but little Missandei came to her rescue. "Did his first wife give him sons?"

The envoy looked at her unhappily. "Great Cleon has three daughters by his first wife. Two of his newer wives are with child. But he means to put all of them aside if the Mother of Dragons will consent to wed him."

"How noble of him," said Dany. "I will consider all you've said, my lord." She gave orders that Ghael be given chambers for the night, somewhere lower in the pyramid.

 _All my victories turn to dross in my hands_ , she thought. _Whatever I do, all I make is death and horror._ When word of what had befallen Astapor reached the streets, as it surely would, tens of thousands of newly freed Meereenese slaves would doubtless decide to follow her when she went west, for fear of what awaited them if they stayed . . . yet it might well be that worse would await them on the march. Even if she emptied every granary in the city and left Meereen to starve, how could she feed so many? The way before her was fraught with hardship, bloodshed, and danger. She rose from her throne, and together with her council retired to her private chambers at the top of the Great Pyramid. Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, Brown Ben Plumm and Missandei sat around a great stone table as Dany clasped her hands to look out over Meereen. Her city.

"What news, Ser Jorah?" Daenerys sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose before looking around to her trusted confidant, her right hand.

"We've taken the Meerenese Navy, Your Grace."

"The Second Sons took the Mereense Navy." Daario Naharis corrected arrogantly as he lounged on one of the steps leading up to Dany's throne.

"Who told you to take the Navy?" she asked tersely of her sellsword commander, who merely shrugged as he looked up at her.

"No-one."

"So why did you do it?"

"I heard you liked ships." Daario grinned, causing Grey-Worm and Ser Jorah to exchange a glance that Daenerys didn't miss. They did not like this Tyroshi sellsword, she knew it well. And yet he had brought her the Second Sons and killed the Meerenese champion for her, how could she send him away? He even brought her a navy. She tried and failed to surpress a smile as she looked back out to the city.

"How many ships?" she finally asked, turning to face them once more.

"Ninety-three, Your Grace." Brown Ben reported.

"How many men can they carry?"

"9300, maybe." Ben said, scratching his growing white stubble under his chin. Dany's eyes flicked to Ser Jorah at once.

"Would that be enough to take King's Landing?" Dany's question caused her commanders to exchange glances and shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"What is it?" Dany asked sharply, soliciting a sigh from her loyal knight.

"Murmurings from the west, Khaleesi. Daario and his Second Sons have heard more of these rumors than I have of true facts."

"What have you heard, Daario?" Daenerys asked of her handsome sellsword, who shrugged and chewed his lip for a moment.

"Not good things, Your Grace. Many murmurings from the Free Cities that Westeros has begun trade alliances with them all. Further news that Robb Stark had begun amassing a massive fleet to cross the Narrow Sea."

"Why?" Daenerys demanded at once, stepping forward to place her hands on the stone table.

"No-one is quite sure why, Your Grace. These are still rumors, and I would be most surprised if they were true. Why would Robb Stark come to seek you out with an army, when he could wait in Westeros and build his power? From all we have heard of him, he is an undefeated warrior with a good mind for battle. This seems uncharacteristic of him." Ser Jorah said to Dany, who frowned even further.

"Perhaps he is coming to treat with you, Your Grace?" Missandei suggested, causing Dany to look up. Robb Stark was her age, if not a bit older from what she had heard, and by all accounts he was beloved by Westeros…it caused envy in Dany, who struggled to rule over her subjects even now and Robb Stark sat on her father's throne without right to it.

"We do not know if he is coming at all, but it does raise the question of what our next move is." Brown Ben said, with the rest murmuring their agreements. She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and the idea of the Usurper's dog's pup had her council in a subtle panic. She could see it on all their features. Robb Stark had become a living legend even in Essos, and her council feared him.

"Even if we made the move to sail into King's Landing, the Starks raised the strongest army Westeros has ever seen. I wouldn't be surprised if King's Landing is more fortified now than it has ever been under the Baratheons." Ser Jorah sighed, clasping his hands atop the table.

"We could take them by surprise." Daario suggested, only to have Jorah to shake his head.

"It would be folly. Did you not say that he married the Tyrell girl?"

"Aye, and apparently has Dorne on his side as well." Daario reported. Jorah clicked his tongue in disapproval at these tidings.

"The Dornish have always been a wildcard, this says much about how the people feel about Robb Stark. The rumors of hero-worship could be true."

"And is our Queen supposed to cower from what is hers because of rumors, Jorah the Andal?" Daario asked, causing Jorah to growl slightly.

"It is up to the Queen. Your Grace, what do you intende to do?" Jorah asked, leading to all in attendance to flick their eyes to Dany who seemed a thousand miles away through all that had been discussed.

"Your Grace?" Ser Jorah asked again, snapping Dany out of her daze.

"Yes?"

"What do you intend to do?" Jorah asked again, whilst the others exchanged nervous glances. Had she even been listening? Dany however paced for a few moments as she thought about what had been said.

"Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. If Robb Stark is beloved by Westeros, then he has done the same. But all I have brought to Slaver's Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on."

"There is nothing to stay for," said Ser Jorah.

"Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves," said Daario Naharis.

"You have brought freedom as well," Missandei pointed out.

"Freedom to starve?" asked Dany sharply. "Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?" Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

"A dragon," Ser Jorah said with certainty. "Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace."

"But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?" He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. "My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I've freed all over again." She turned back to look at their faces. "I will not march without numbers and strength at my back. If all you say about Robb Stark is true, then I cannot sail to Westeros. Not yet."

"What will you do then, Khaleesi?" Ser Jorah asked

"I will do what Queens do." She tilted her head up to gaze at Ser Jorah strongly "I will rule."

* * *

"Your Grace, Ser Harrold of House Hardyng." Ser Barristan announced as he opened the door to Robb's private solar where the Wolf King was having an informal meeting with Jon Stark, Queen Margaery, Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont. Queen Margaery was seated behind the desk at King Robb's behest, due to her swollen feet, and she remained seated as a young, blonde boy walked into the room to bow to them all.

"My King, my Queen, my lords and ladies. It is my honor to be welcomed here to King's Landing." Ser Harrold said before rising from his bow.

"You are most welcome here, Ser Harrold. Smalljon, Dacey, that's all for now. We'll speak more later." Robb said to his two best friends, who inclined their heads to their King before leaving the royal chambers. Jon sat in one of the chairs before the desk while Robb walked around to look at the young Ser Harrold.

"Do you know why we called you here, Ser Harrold?" Robb asked, leading the blonde boy to glance from the King to the Queen behind him.

"I-…I believe so, Your Grace…but I do not wish to be presumptive."

"Courteous of you. You know your position well, Ser Harrold. You are the Heir to the Eyrie." Robb's words made Harrold to look up swiftly, a glint of hope in his eyes.

"My Queen?" Robb held Harrold's gaze as he extended his hand behind him to accept a scroll that Margaery placed in his hand.

"Ser Harrold Hardyng, kneel before me." Harrold did not hesitate, dropping to a kneel at once to bow his head "By all the laws of Gods and Men, you are the last surviving member of the Great House Arryn of the Eyrie, Lords Paramount of the Vale of Arryn, Wardens of the East and loyal vassals to the Iron Throne. Swear me your loyal service now and I will name you _Harrold Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie_ and Warden of the East."

"I swear. I swear my life, and my sword, and the loyalty of my kin from this day until the end of days. House Arryn will always serve House Stark." Harrold said quickly, his words caught in his throat almost from his emotional excitement. It had been a dream when he'd been a boy, a dream to become the Lord Arryn. It could not be possible that this was happening now.

"Rise, Lord Arryn and take this decree to mark the beginning of your reign as Lord of the Eyrie." Harrold looked up to Robb in awe, before slowly rising to accept the sealed scroll.

"I still mourn for my cousin, and so will not make your ascension to lordship a spectacle in my court. I hope you can understand."

"Of course, Your Grace, I still mourn Lord Robert as well."

"I'm sure." Robb said wryly, causing Harrold to blush as he looked down at the scroll in his hands.

"You are welcome to stay in the capital, Lord Arryn. But know that I expect the Vale to join the fold at once. Begin raising men to join the United Army when we march North."

"At once, Your Grace. I will return to the Eyrie tomorrow, with your leave."

"Go with my blessing, Lord Harrold." Robb said with a nod, dismissing the young blonde lord and making to turn around before Harrold stepped forward.

"Your Grace-…I-…Thank you. Really. Thank you." Harrold's voice was soft with sincerity. Robb smiled slightly.

"Go on, lad."

"Gods, that was easy." Jon commented as the door closed behind Harrold Arryn.

"And now the Seven Kingdoms are united once more. Thank the fucking Gods. I can set sail with that burden off my shoulders at least." Robb sighed, returning to stand behind Margaery's chair.

"I can't believe you're leaving tomorrow." Margaery grumbled, causing Robb and Jon to both agree.

"Neither can I. It's going to be…interesting."

"Its going to be madness, Robb. Don't sugarcoat it." Margaery sighed. Robb looked up to Jon who took it as his cue to leave the King and Queen to their affairs. He bowed silently before hurrying out as Margaery rose from her chair.

"You had better be back before these babies are here, Robb Stark. I cannot do this alone." She said as she wrapped her arms around Robb's neck and pressed her face into his chest.

"I will do my best, Margaery." Robb promised yet again, kissing her head before looking up to the stone walls with deep conflict in his vivid blue gaze. Would he return at all, let alone in time to witness the birth of his children? The thought had lingered in his mind for weeks now. Leaving Margaery was not something he wanted to do, but he had little choice when some of their ships had already begun to set sail that afternoon. _The Howl_ would leave in the morning with Robb's party aboard.

"If you're going to leave me alone in this city, you're going to make love to me before you go." Margaery demanded, causing Robb to laugh heartily.

"I'm not joking. Get in bed. _Now_."

* * *

Jon Stark smiled slightly to himself as he walked down the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast accompanied by two of his own guardsmen. Watching Robb and Margaery, it was difficult not to smile. Their love for each other seemed to only grow as the days past, and it was evident to everyone that were rulers akin or perhaps even greater than King Jaehaerys the Old and Good Queen Alysanne. He was happy for his brother. Robb had developed this startling ability to make everyone's lives better the moment they put a crown on his head. He earned people's love and inspired devotion wherever he went, and for that Jon knew that his brother belonged on the Iron Throne. Robb was meant to be King. And the more and more that Jon saw his work with Robb bearing fruit, the more he was proud to be Robb's Hand. Perhaps he would ask Robb to stay on after the Long Night…King's Landing wasn't so bad anymore, now that Margaery's builders were routing all the shit and piss away from the city, and building more open areas, it was actually becoming a pleasant place to live.

"I think I might take a walk on the walls, boys. Why don't you get rest, we all set sail tomorrow." Jon said, turning to his two soldiers clad in black chainmail armor and new cloaks of heavy grey wool with a white satin border. A hand of beaten silver clutched the woolen folds of each cloak and marked them as men of the Hand's household guard. The same cloaks had been worn by Ned Stark's own guard and had been found in the Tower of the Hand for Jon to use.

"As you say, my lord." Jon's Captain, Farlan nodded his head. Farlan had been the son of the Winterfell kennel master and had been part of the Stark guards for years before Robb gave him over to Jon's household, along with a number of other men. They were loyal to Jon, having watched him grow up in Winterfell as well as the other Stark children. He thought of Winterfell as he walked along the castle walls. He missed looking out at the snowy moors and riding out with his father-….with Ned Stark and his sons. He looked out instead at Blackwater Bay, where the large Stark fleet was sailing out in formation for Essos. Jon was so lost in his thoughts that for the first time he did not notice Arianne sneaking up behind him until she covered his eyes with her hands.

"Finally got you." She breathed into his ear, before chuckling and removing her hands as he turned to smile down at her.

"Good evening, Princess."

"Now, now. Didn't I tell you to call me Arianne, Jon?" she smiled, leaning against the stone parapet to face Jon.

"Apologies. How are you?"

"Oh, quite well in fact. That new Lord of the Vale is quite a specimen, isn't he?" Arianne's words caused an odd flash of jealousy within Jon, who had his features contort to reflect as much. Arianne merely grinned and placed a hand on Jon's chest.

"Only joking. He's too blonde for my tastes. I hear you're setting sail tomorrow."

"I am." Jon admitted.

"Are you going to tell me where the fleet, the King and his Hand are off to so mysteriously?"

"It's no secret. We're going to find Daenerys Targaryen."

" _Why?_ "

"I've told you this before, Arianne. The Long Night is coming. The temperatures are already dropping, the days grow shorter, winter will be upon us and the dead with it. We need fire against this ice. It's the only way to stop them." Jon explained as they continued to walk along the walls. Arianne wrapped her arm around Jon's as they walked, something she'd been doing regularly since they first shared that kiss a little while ago.

"This all seems so…mad. I struggle to believe it. Yet so many are convinced by what they saw when they followed King Robb to the North, I suppose I cannot argue against it."

"I've seen it. _Them_. The Others. They're real, and they're coming for us." Jon's words were grim and caused Arianne to shiver in the cold night air. Jon realized that she was not dressed for the dropping temperatures, and so removed his black bear's fur cloak from around his shoulders to wrap it around her.

"Such chivalry from a man so grim and stern. I'd hardly have expected it." Arianne teased as Jon laughed slightly.

"Will you remain in court?"

"I suppose I will. I am told that my uncle is having far too much fun cutting the Mountain into pieces to return just yet. And if Queen Margaery will have me in her court, I believe I shall stay. Even if all the… _entertainment_ is leaving the city." She squeezed his arm as she grinned up at him with that dazzling Dornish smile. Jon exhaled heavily, asking himself yet again why he refused Arianne Martell's advances so fervently. Especially as she pressed herself closer against him while they walked and held his grey gaze with her own shimmering brown.

"Is my resistance to your pursuits what drives you so, _Princess_?" Jon's question was low, and his use of the term Princess barely more than a growl that caused Arianne Martell's breath to hitch slightly in her throat. The way Jon Stark looked at her now, it could have burned and she would not have minded.

"Perhaps. I've never met a man whose will I couldn't break one way or the other." Arianne's hand slid down Jon's arm to intertwine her fingers with his own. She raked her long nails across the back of his palm as they walked to the end of the wall-walk, where no guardsmen were on duty and they overlooked a high-cliff face that led out to the sea. From here, as the sun set and the city bustled about its' own affairs, Arianne Martell and Jon Stark could have been the only two people in King's Landing.

"No. I suppose you haven't." Jon said, as Arianne turned to have her back facing the sea.

"How long will you be gone for, my Lord Hand?" Arianne asked breathily as she fiddled with the tabs of Jon's black leather jerkin.

"Four months, maybe five." Jon said as they stepped closer together and he raised his right hand to place upon her waist. It sent a thrill through Jon, to hold someone who wanted him again after having his heart broken by Ygritte. Arianne was _beautiful_ , she was smart, she understood Westeros and court…and more than anything…she _wanted_ him. It was nice to be wanted.

"Well, we shall certainly have to make this a night to remember then." Arianne whispered before they all but launched themselves at each other to embrace in an erotically charged kiss that saw Jon lifting Arianne off the ground to wrap her legs around his waist. Arianne's fingers curled in Jon's dark locks as she nibbled on his bottom lip before pulling away to grin at him.

"To the Tower of the Hand, perhaps?"

* * *

Arianne moaned breathlessly, letting her weary head fall forward and her long, silken hair drape around her bare chest before rolling off of Jon to fall onto the bed next to him. She pushed her hair back to see that Jon himself was panting heavily, covered in a sheen of sweat from their vigorous lovemaking. She grinned and pressed herself against him, planting kisses on his arm and chest as he took her in his arms affectionately.

"How did you learn to treat a woman so well? I did not know you Northeners knew how to lick pussy." Arianne's words were sharp and crude in his ear, but only served to arouse Jon further, despite having spent the better part of the night inside Arianne already.

"What? Dornishmen do it often?"

"Oh, please Jon Stark. The Dornish _invented_ the Southern Kiss." Arianne laughed, sitting up to straddle Jon once more and pin his arms to the bed. She liked looking at Jon Stark, she realized as she bent down to intimately kiss him. Perhaps she was the one playing a dangerous game here…

"Did your wildling bitch treat _you_ as well?" Arianne grinned, running a hand through Jon's chest hair as she slowly ground herself against him.

"Nowhere near as well as you, my Princess." Jon admitted with a grunt, as Arianne's buxom form seemed to impossibly give him new desire.

"Good." Arianne beamed before soliciting a long, low groan of pleasure from the Hand of the King.

* * *

The court was silently listening to their King, but it was not in awe, for the words their dear King was saying sounded like madness to their ears, madness of crossing the Narrow Sea to find a Targaryen and three dragons, creatures which had previously brought nothing but death and destruction to Westeros.

"You have all wondered where our fleet is going , without Daenerys Targaryen and the power of her dragons, Westeros faces no hope against the Long Night. The Others come for us, my lords and ladies, and I have had to make the hardest decision of my reign by choosing to take up this mission. I will not have my people suffer the Long Night when I could have done something to save us. I set sail for Essos today with the Hand of the King, and whilst I am away, Queen Margaery is named Regent in my place until such a time as I return…or until our son is of maturity." Robb declared to the court at large, a court that by now loved their monarchy, but still found Robb's declaration shocking. Margaery herself stood amongst the audience, giving her husband a conflicted gaze.

"Lord Blackfish, I name you Protector of the Realm in the same regard. Serve me well, uncle." Robb said to his great-uncle Brynden Tully, the Lord of his own newly formed House Blackfish of the Crossing and his Master of War, who pursed his lips and nodded, standing straight as he grasped the pommel of his sword.

"Of the Kingsguard only Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Raynald Westerling will accompany me on my voyage. I task Ser Loras Tyrell with the paramount safety and security of the Queen Regent in my absence, I task Brienne of Tarth, Ser Robar Royce and Ser Ethan Forrester with guarding the rest of the royal family. The majority of the Royal Army will remain in King's Landing to keep the peace and ensure that we are still preparing ourselves for the Long Night." Robb declared, before rising from the Iron Throne to begin his descent down the many steps. He was dressed in his sailing leathers, his crown ever present atop his head and his sword strapped around his waist. "I leave you all now in the worthy hands of my Queen." Robb stopped on the dais that the Throne was built upon and held his hand out for Margaery, who stepped away from the audience to climb the few steps up onto the dais to accept Robb's hand.

"Queen Margaery!" Robb called, causing the court to kneel and echo his words as one. Margaery was gazing at her husband and could not stop herself from moving forward to passionately embrace him before the court.

"Come. Home." She repeated quietly, before stepping away from him. Robb gave her a gentle smile, before stepping away from her and letting their hands separate as he walked down the plush carpet of the Great Hall. Jon Stark stepped forth to join him, as did Dacey Mormont, Smalljon Umber, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Raynald Westerling.

"To Essos, my friends." Robb said, as the group jogged down the steps of the Great Hall's entrance out into the courtyard of the Red Keep where horses were waiting to take them down to the docks.

"What of Bran?" Robb asked as he mounted his palfrey, looking to his Hand who responded at once.

"Already on board, Your Grace. Along with the Reeds and Hodor." Jon responded, looking positively glowing despite the fact that he had gotten barely any sleep last night. If Robb had cared to study his brother closer, he would have almost seen a skip in Jon's step. However the King himself was distracted by the fact that he could not see Margaery wave him off, for she was needed to hold the nobles in court and prevent a spectacle on the docks. Jon however, turned his head as the party began to trot out of the castle gates, to see a beautiful young woman with a dusky complexion giving him a small wave from one of the wall-walks. Even from here, Jon could see Arianne's smile. He grinned, hoping that she would be in King's Landing when he returned, before turning back in his saddle to focus on the mission that awaited them.

* * *

Donal Noye, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch stood with Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall a league away from the tunnel to Castle Black. These two men were the strict enforcers of the historical treaty that prevented a war between the Free Folk and Westeros, and they bickered like an old married couple.

"We need more supplies." Mance repeated, as the two men observed the ironwood curtain wall that the free-folk were building between their settlement north of the Wall and the Haunted Forest.

"We're giving you all we bloody can, let alone the fact that the King is sending supplies of his own. You need to make them bloody last, or your people will die."

"My people are already dying. They're the fodder while you crows sit behind your Wall!" Mance rounded on Donal, with the two men engaging in their daily stare-down.

"Are we going to do this again? Because I tire of this daily argument. I will send a raven to Winterfell asking for more ironwood, but you need to send your people North again. They're cowering here and refusing to hunt, it's causing a massive drain on the supplies."

"Fine. I will speak to them." Mance barked, stepping away from Donal to fold his arms and angrily watch his people work on the construction of the large wooden wall that would act as the first line of defense against the wights and the Others.

"King's Landing is to send us a shipment of dragonglass blades soon. We'll have to distribute them evenly along the frontline."

"How soon is soon?" Mance asked, glancing at Donal who could only shrug.

"They said they'd get that dragon girl soon. Its been months."

"All your southern kings are the same." Mance said with a derisive spit to the ground.

"If he was the same as all the rest. He would have let your people die. Instead he sends supplies, he sends more aid than any King has done in over two-hundred years." Donal pointed out fairly, only to receive a grunt from Mance.

"We will all sleep easier once the Long Night has come."

"Aye. With dreams of spring." Donal japed, before turning on his heel to march back through the snow and past the huts and cottages of the wildlings towards the tunnel for Castle Black.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Aaaaaaanndddd they're off!**_

 _ **I included basically a word-for-word retelling of Dany's canon chapter in Meereen here, because I believe it truly showcases how Dany needed to learn how to rule well, and that her decisions have not been great so far. A contrast to Robb and Margaery who have been actively working together to turn Westeros into a better place and have been succeeding at it.**_

 _ **Arianne and Jon, which I know is not a usual pairing, I find extremely interesting, because they evolved on their own to become a couple in my story, where I had originally intended for Jon to be with Dany. I don't want to pin anything down, as their relationship seemed to be quite organic to me, and also quite passionate (Which is good). Their original sex scene got quite graphic, so I thought I should edit it down rather than have this turn into literotica xD.**_

 _ **Lastly, I have spent many, many hours on my profile page creating links for images of who I envisioned as certain characters, if anyone would like to see my "Casting" for this story, just click on my profile page: Samwell Stark, and scroll down. :)**_

 ** _Please do leave a review! xoxo_**


	21. Chapter 21 - Three Queens

Grey-Wind twitched slightly before continuing to snore peacefully as he curled up on Robb's side of the bed. Margaery remained awake, one hand atop her pregnant belly and the other hand running through Grey-Wind's soft fur. It had almost been without question that Robb decided to leave Grey-Wind behind with Margaery, as the direwolf had become as protective of Margaery as Robb was. Bran had even said that if Robb practiced hard enough, he could warg into Grey-Wind from across the Narrow Sea.

Margaery had secretly hoped that her King would come to her the first night he had set sail, but sadly it did not happen. It had only been a few months that she'd grown accustomed to having slept in Robb's embrace, but it was long enough that she could not imagine sleeping any other way. Margaery knew she was being ridiculous, that she was more than just Robb's Queen, and that there was more to life than his loving arms, but it did not stop her from missing him as the weeks dragged by.

Robb had left her as Queen Regent, a move unheard of in Westeros's history, and yet the court and Kingdoms had accepted it with little to no resistance. Such was Robb and Margaery's influence now, that the Seven Kingdoms recognized their positive effects on them all. Margaery had diligently taken on the role as Regent for House Stark, despite the fatigue she oft felt from her pregnancy. She held court three times a week, dispensing rulings from a wooden throne that had been placed beneath the Iron Throne for her. The Grand Maester had not liked the idea of a pregnant Queen sitting atop such a dangerous chair, and the court had indeed agreed. Under her direction the mining and crafting efforts of dragonglass pursued at the steady pace Robb left it, with scores of obsidian weapons being sent North to the Wall with every trade-ship and supply wagon that Robb promised the Night's Watch and the Free Folk. The harvest progressed steadily, with Margaery using her Tyrell connections to ensure that the smallfolk and highborn alike had enough food in their larders for at least a five year winter. The Royal Army patrolled the Crownlands looking for any sign of Jaime Lannister, and all economic operations of the Iron Throne were booming, which trickled down to mean a prosperous and happy Westeros at large.

This had been all she had wanted as a girl; absolute power to do good for Westeros. But having experienced this life with a good, gallant man by her side…Margaery realized there was more to life than crowns and thrones. What she now desired was for she and Robb to raise a strong, happy royal family. She wanted their twins to know peace as Robb had never known it. It had gotten to the point that Margaery prayed at the weirwood in the Godswood more often than she prayed at the Sept of Baelor. She remembered her prayers that evening, when Loras, Garlan and Grey-Wind had accompanied her on that torch-lit stone path into the acre of Godswood in the Red Keep. There had been no weirwood there until Margaery had organized one from the Isle of Faces, and through the dedication of gardeners from Highgarden, the weirwood had taken root in the castle Godswood, and was slowly growing stronger. Garlan and Loras had stood a little ways off to give Margaery her privacy, while Grey-Wind alone padded beside Margaery to join her. She could not bend easily, and so had a small chair placed for her there where sat to close her eyes and pray as she had seen Robb done so many times.

" _Please protect Robb and all those he took with him. Please guide him home safely to me. Please never let our children know they pain he suffered of losing his father. Please…"_ she had repeated quietly to the weeping face of the weirwood. And she swore that for a moment when the wind had rustled through the leaves, she had heard the Old Gods respond to her prayer. She was sure she imagined it, but even so the two words the wind had whispered had calmed her heart: " _We will._ "

Margaery sighed, feeling her bladder painfully ache yet again, before throwing the furs of the bed off her delicate form to swing her swollen feet onto the stone floor. Grey-Wind half rose off the bed to look at her, before sleepily returning to lie his head back down. Margaery chuckled as when she opened the door, Grey-Wind instantly perked up to hop off of the bed to trot over to her side. Loras and two of his soldiers were on guard outside Margaery's chambers, giving her an inquisitive look when she opened the door.

"I'm only after the privy," she sighed, sticking her tongue out at her brother who grinned and nodded.

"Third time tonight?"

"Fourth, actually. Shut up." Margaery snapped irritably as she walked past Loras down to the privy chambers with Grey-Wind by her side. The castle was dark and silent save for Margaery's soft footsteps on the stone. Grey-Wind's ears flared up, before the direwolf hurried down the corridor with all haste, causing Margaery to roll her eyes. She assumed that Grey-Wind had smelled Shaggydog, who was in Rickon's chambers down the corridor, and that Grey-Wind would return soon enough. The Queen was tired from her lack of sleep, and also fatigued from her pregnancy, so did not hear the soft clink of steel on stone when she finished her business in the privy. She yawned as she opened the door, expecting to see Grey-Wind waiting expectantly outside the door, instead her yawn caught in her throat as her heart froze.

The edge of a dagger was held against Margaery's throat while the tip of another was pointed at her belly. Margaery would have begun to sob in fear for her children, if the shock of the situation did not freeze her every movement.

"My, my. They never said you were such a beauty…" Margaery's golden brown eyes flicked up from the shining steel to see rotting yellow teeth and hateful eyes. The man was dressed in common servant's clothes, but had the shape and movement of a foot soldier. His arms were muscled as though they were used to holding a sword or standard in battle.

"Ser Jaime wants you dead. Want you _hurt_ bad. Wants your little wolf king to cry and cry, knowing he was nowhere to be found when his whore queen got a dagger in her _gut_." The man snarled, stepping closed to Margaery to dig the two daggers he held further against her delicate skin.

"Doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, first eh?" The man sheathed the dagger he held against Margaery's belly quickly into a scabbard, using his now free hand to yank at her robe and causing it to fall to the ground around her ankles.

"Ooh. You highborn…" the man growled in sadistic desire as he ran his horrid gaze up and down her body "Even pregnant, eh-AARRRGHH!" Grey-Wind had been as silent as death, creeping up behind the attacker before violently snapping his fangs into the man's meaty calf, sending the attacker lurching backwards onto his back, just where the direwolf wanted him. Grey-Wind's fangs had all but severed the man's leg from his knee, and the wolf then turned his attention to the man's face and throat. Grey-Wind was a killer, and Margaery saw firsthand why Robb kept his wolf so close as Grey-Wind viciously mauled Margaery's attacker into an unrecognizable bloody mess. Grey-Wind stepped back to howl loudly, just as Margaery regained her senses enough to unleash a scream of pure terror that sent every sword in the castle running towards her.

* * *

"If King Robb finds out about this, the Seven Hells themselves will seem like heaven. Count yourselves lucky that the Queen was unhurt, or you would have all felt his wrath firsthand." Brynden Tully, Protector of the Realm, snapped at the Kingsguard who were gathered in the royal bedchambers, along with Garlan and Willas Tyrell, Catelyn Stark and her two daughters. Margaery was wrapped in many furs whilst being attended to by the Grand-Maester, the Queen was deeply shaken by what had happened, and none blamed her. Grey-Wind, with the assassin's blood still on his fur, was curled at Margaery's feet with his head on his paws.

"My babies…?" Margaery whispered to the Grand Maester, who smiled at the Queen reassuringly.

"They are fine. _You_ are fine. Thank the Gods. You need rest, my Queen, plenty of rest and something to soothe your nerves. I will concoct something in my laboratory to bring you a safe sleep." The Grand Maester promised, placing a fatherly hand on Margaery's back before rising from the bed and hurrying out of the chambers.

"How could you let this happen, Loras?" Willas Tyrell snapped at his younger brother, who looked momentarily infuriated before he bowed his head.

"I am sorry. I truly am. I did not want this. None of you can think that."

"It wasn't Loras' fault." Margaery croaked, causing every eye in the room to snap to her at once. "It couldn't have been. But now…now we know better. I want every servant in the castle to be investigated by Lord Varys. The Red Keep is to be closed to the public until Robb returns. I will have five extra guards from now on. And…" Margaery forced herself to stand, regaining her authority as Queen Regent to give an order that would endear the people to her ever more "Jaime Lannister will be found and brought to justice. Lord Blackfish, Garlan, I charge you both to bring the Kingslayer to me. Robb will want his head once he learns what he tried to do, and I am more than happy to have it waiting for him when he returns."

* * *

She dreamt an old dream, of three girls in brown cloaks, a wattled crone, and a tent that smelled of death.

The crone's tent was dark, with a tall peaked roof. She did not want to go in, no more than she had wanted to at ten, but the other girls were watching her, so she could not turn away. They were three in the dream, as they had been in life. Fat Jeyne Farman hung back as she always did. It was a wonder she had come this far. Melara Hetherspoon was bolder, older, and prettier, in a freckly sort of way. Wrapped in roughspun cloaks with their hoods pulled up, the three of them had stolen from their beds and crossed the tourney grounds to seek the sorceress. Melara had heard the serving girls whispering how she could curse a man or make him fall in love, summon demons and foretell the future.

In life the girls had been breathless and giddy, whispering to each other as they went, as excited as they were afraid. The dream was different. In the dream the pavilions were shadowed, and the knights and serving men they passed were made of mist. The girls wandered for a long while before they found the crone's tent. By the time they did all the torches were guttering out. Cersei watched the girls huddling, whispering to one another. Go back, she tried to tell them. Turn away. There is nothing here for you. But though she moved her mouth, no words came out.

Lord Tywin's daughter was the first through the flap, with Melara close behind her. Jeyne Farman came last, and tried to hide behind the other two, the way she always did.

The inside of the tent was full of smells. Cinnamon and nutmeg. Pepper, red and white and black. Almond milk and onions. Cloves and lemongrass and precious saffron, and stranger spices, rarer still. The only light came from an iron brazier shaped like a basilisk's head, a dim green light that made the walls of the tent look cold and dead and rotten. Had it been that way in life as well? Cersei could not seem to remember.

The sorceress was sleeping in the dream, as once she'd slept in life. Leave her be, the queen wanted to cry out. You little fools, never wake a sleeping sorceress. Without a tongue, she could only watch as the girl threw off her cloak, kicked the witch's bed, and said, "Wake up, we want our futures told."

When Maggy the Frog opened her eyes, Jeyne Farman gave a frightened squeak and fled the tent, plunging headlong back into the night. Plump stupid timid little Jeyne, pasty-faced and fat and scared of every shadow. She was the wise one, though. Jeyne lived on Fair Isle still. She had married one of her lord brother's bannermen and whelped a dozen children. Children who still lived and bent their knee to a new King.

The old woman's eyes were yellow, and crusted all about with something vile. In Lannisport it was said that she had been young and beautiful when her husband had brought her back from the east with a load of spices, but age and evil had left their marks on her. She was short, squat, and warty, with pebbly greenish jowls. Her teeth were gone and her dugs hung down to her knees. You could smell sickness on her if you stood too close, and when she spoke her breath was strange and strong and foul. "Be gone," she told the girls, in a croaking whisper.

"We came for a foretelling," young Cersei told her.

"Be gone," croaked the old woman, a second time.

"We heard that you can see into the morrow," said Melara. "We just want to know what men we're going to marry."

"Be gone," croaked Maggy, a third time.

Listen to her, the queen would have cried if she had her tongue. You still have time to flee. Run, you little fools!

The girl with the golden curls put her hands upon her hips. "Give us our foretelling, or I'll go to my lord father and have you whipped for insolence."

"Please," begged Melara. "Just tell us our futures, then we'll go."

"Some are here who have no futures," Maggy muttered in her terrible deep voice. She pulled her robe about her shoulders and beckoned the girls closer. "Come, if you will not go. Fools. Come, yes. I must taste your blood."

Melara paled, but not Cersei. A lioness does not fear a frog, no matter how old and ugly she might be. She should have gone, she should have listened, she should have run away. Instead she took the dagger Maggy offered her, and ran the twisted iron blade across the ball of her thumb. Then she did Melara too.

In the dim green tent, the blood seemed more black than red. Maggy's toothless mouth trembled at the sight of it. "Here," she whispered, "give it here." When Cersei offered her hand, she sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe's. The queen could still remember how queer and cold her mouth had been.

"Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or be gone with you."

Go, the dreaming queen thought, hold your tongue, and flee. But the girl did not have sense enough to be afraid.

"When will I wed the prince?" she asked.

"Never. You will wed the king."

Beneath her golden curls, the girl's face wrinkled up in puzzlement. For years after, she took those words to mean that she would not marry Rhaegar until after his father Aerys had died. "I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her.

"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her." Even then she would not stop, willful child as she was. She still had one more question due her, one more glimpse into her life to come. "Will the king and I have children?" she asked.

"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you."

That made no sense to Cersei. Her thumb was throbbing where she'd cut it, and her blood was dripping on the carpet. How could that be? she wanted to ask, but she was done with her questions.

The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

"What is a valonqar? Some monster?" The golden girl did not like that foretelling. "You're a liar and a warty frog and a smelly old savage, and I don't believe a word of what you say. Come away, Melara. She is not worth hearing."

"I get three questions too," her friend insisted. And when Cersei tugged upon her arm, she wriggled free and turned back to the crone. "Will I marry Jaime?" she blurted out.

You stupid girl, the queen thought, angry even now. Jaime does not even know you are alive. Back then her brother lived only for swords and dogs and horses . . . and for her, his twin.

"Not Jaime, nor any other man," said Maggy. "Worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close."

"The only breath we smell is yours," said Cersei. There was a jar of some thick potion by her elbow, sitting on a table. She snatched it up and threw it into the old woman's eyes. In life the crone had screamed at them in some queer foreign tongue, and cursed them as they fled her tent. But in the dream her face dissolved, melting away into ribbons of grey mist until all that remained were two squinting yellow eyes, the eyes of death.

The valonqar shall wrap his hands about your throat, the queen heard, but the voice did not belong to the old woman. The hands emerged from the mists of her dream and coiled around her neck; thick hands, and strong. Above them floated his face, leering down at her with his mismatched eyes. No, the queen tried to cry out, but the dwarf's fingers dug deep into her neck, choking off her protests. She kicked and screamed to no avail.

She woke gasping in the dark with the thin gaol blanket wound about her neck. Cersei wrenched it off so violently that it tore, and sat up with her breasts heaving. At first she thought she was back where she was meant to be; the royal bedchambers in Maegor's Holdfast. But as her vision cleared and she remembered, she began to hysterically sob.

 _Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear._

Cersei leaned forward on the small, rickety cot of her cell to hug at her knees and rock slowly on the thin mattress. She had once been the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, her hair had been like soft spun gold, her eyes glimmering as emeralds and her body the desire of every man and the envy of most women. But since that smirking whore from Highgarden had taken everything from her, Cersei had slowly decayed. Her hair was brittle now, greying and greasy from months of poor care. Her eyes had lost that sparkle that people knew her for, and her body itself was gaunt in some places while fleshy and overweight in others. Cersei had fallen, she had lost everything important to her: her wealth, her beauty, her family and most importantly her power. In her delusional mind, she saw herself as having saved Tommen from a fate worse than what she gave him. If she brought him into this world, she should have a say in how he left it. He was hers. She knew that Joff was lost to her the moment that Robb Stark's forces took the city. She had hoped her father would prevail in the west, but he hadn't. She had been dragged along behind Margaery Tyrell like a mule in chains, laughed at by everyone who had always hated her.

It was only Robb Stark's 'honor' that had kept Cersei from being viciously attacked. She had seen the way the guards and the citizen looked at her, especially when she was paraded in chains on the Kingsroad behind Margaery Tyrell's horse. They had wanted to maul her, hurt her and leave her for dead, but had resigned themselves to simply hurling verbal abuse her away in fear of what King Robb would do to them. That was the only way Cersei understood power; fear. She did not recognize that the peopled obeyed Robb strictly because they loved him far more than they had ever feared her. She had never known how to inspire the love from her people, and had only ever viewed those that did with contempt.

Even still she had not lost hope that Jaime was coming for her, but her belief did wane every day that passed. How long would she have to wait? She had never waited this long before. Was her father truly defeated? The all-powerful Tywin Lannister brought down by a little boy and a little girl? It was _madness!_ It couldn't be true, none of this could be true! How could she have let this happen?! She hugged her knees tighter, jamming her eyes shut in the hopes that if she did not see this dark, damp cell she was in, then it did not exist.

She opened her eyes a crack, then tilted her head back to scream a horrible, echoing shriek of despair.

* * *

"It's a trick." Brown Ben Plumm said, staring down at the letter on the stone table of Daenerys's private chambers in the Great Pyramid of Meereen. The scroll was stamped with a grey wax seal of a fierce crowned direwolf's head, the Stark sigil apparently.

"It's a trap." Ser Jorah countered, only to have Daario Naharis look up and shake his head.

"Its not. It doesn't feel like one."

"It could be true, Your Grace." Missandei offered, glancing from the table to Daenerys who wrung her hands together as she stared down at the scroll that had been delivered to Brown Ben Plumm by a random child in the streets of the city. Ben had been returning from a tavern in the late evening, walking the streets with a group of Second Sons when the boy had managed to dart his way through Ben's guard and press the sealed scroll against Ben's stomach. When Ben had tried to catch up to him, the little boy had disappeared without a trace.

 _To Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains and Queen of Meereen,_

 _My name is Robb Stark. You do not know me, and I do not know you. But our families were once allies a long time ago. My father was Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I am not sure if you know the story of how he came to be Lord of Winterfell, but it involved the deaths of his elder brother, his father and the kidnapping of his sister, as well as the deaths of your family. For that, I am truly sorry. And I know that my father opposed the deaths of your niece and nephew. It is a well-known tale around Westeros, but not one that absolves the horrors that were done._

 _I do not wish to seek a fight with you, Queen Daenerys. I wish to seek an alliance against something that is greater than both you and I. Greater than our Houses, and greater than the Seven Kingdoms themselves. I do not know if you have learned men or women around you, people who know of Westeros's history, but if you do I pray you ask them about the Long Night. The cold winds are rising, and the dead rise with it. I have seen and done impossible things in the last year, things that have driven me to seek you out when all my councilors tell me that it is folly._

 _By the time you read this letter, I hope to be well on my way to meet you in Meereen, where I beg of you to meet me in peaceful negotiations. I bring with me a fleet of one-hundred-ships to ensure my safety and hopefully our return to Westeros together._

 _Yours,_

 _Robb I of House Stark_

 _King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar  
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms_

 _Protector of the Realm_

"What is the Long Night? Do any of you know?" Daenerys asked, looking from one face to another. It surprised her that of all of them there, it was Daario Naharis whose features darkened as he nodded. She had not seen the Tyroshi look so grim and somber, so somber that his eyes almost looked grey with severity. Before Ser Jorah could speak, Daario began to talk.

"The Long Night, my Queen…it is and was a terrible thing. The Westerosi call it the Long Night, but in every part of the Known World they had a name for the darkness that fell across us all. The Rhoynar tell of a darkness that made the Rhoyne dwindle and disappear, her waters frozen as far south as the joining of the Selhoru, until a hero convinced the many children of Mother Rhoyne, such as the Crab King and the Old Man of the River, to put aside their bickering and join in a secret song that brought back the day."

"I know this tale." Missandei suddenly said, leading to Daenerys to flick her violet gaze towards her little scribe "In Asshai they speak of Azor Ahai, my Queen. Darkness lay over the world and the hero Azor Ahai was chosen to fight it. To do so, he needed to forge a hero's sword. He laboured for thirty days and thirty nights until it was done. However, when he went to temper it in water, the sword broke. He was not one to give up easily, so he started over. The second time he took fifty days and fifty nights to make the sword, even better than the first. To temper it this time, he captured a lion and drove the sword into its heart, but once more the steel shattered. The third time, with a heavy heart, for he knew beforehand what he must do to finish the blade, he worked for a hundred days and nights until it was finished. This time, he called for his wife, Nissa Nissa, and asked her to bare her breast. He drove his sword into her living heart, her soul combining with the steel of the sword, creating Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes. It is said that Azor Ahai then used the Red Sword to fight against the creatures of cold and darkness to restore light to the world."

"An eastern retelling of the Last Hero, which is the Westerosi recounting of how a man sought out the Children of the Forest, an ancient race that rules Westeros long before the First Men. It is said he worked with the Children to drive away the darkness, and built the Wall with the help of the giants." Daario said wisely, causing Dany to look back to him thoughtfully. She had never realized that her Tyroshi was so well-versed in the subject matter.

"But what was the darkness? The dead rise with it. What does that mean? What were they trying to fight against?"

"The Others, Khaleesi." Ser Jorah said, causing Daenerys to furrow her brow in confusion.

"They are-…well they _were_ a thing of legends. It is said that the Night's Watch was created to fight against them. They are creatures of cold, darkness and evil. No-one knows where they came from, or what their purpose is. But one thing is for certain, they want death and darkness for us all." Daario said.

"Are we supposed to cower over a legend, Daario?" Brown Ben asked with a scoff "This is a trick. He comes here to sway our Queen with words of evil and destruction, and instead I'd wager he wants to return her to Westeros to execute her himself before the Seven Kingdoms. Just to solidify his rule."

"He doesn't need to solidify his rule. He could have done that by staying in Westeros." Daario snapped irritably "My Queen, to have set sail across the Narrow Sea…to reach out to you when you are the biggest threat to his reign. I do not think that he is coming to kill you. I think he needs you, and I think…you may need him as well."

"Are you drunk, Naharis?" Ser Jorah barked across the table at the Tyroshi who sighed to clasp his hands on the tabletob.

"We are on the brink of civil war. The Sons of the Harpy have killed enough of the Unsullied and the Second Sons now that the Queen doesn't have the numbers to face Robb Stark if she engages him in war. Astapor is revolting and Yunkai seeks to gain allies in Volantis and further to march here and kill us all. The Queen once said that she will stay here to rule, well…none of us here have ever ruled over so much as a village of sheepherders let alone a kingdom."

"I was Lord of Bear Island."

"And Ned Stark sentenced you to die before you fled your lands." Daario countered to Ser Jorah's growl of protest, before slowly rising from the table to place his hands on his sword belt. "My Queen…to admit that you need guidance is not a weakness. Your intentions here have been pure, noble and just. But the tide is turning…if Robb Stark comes to seek an alliance, I urge you to make one."

Daenerys looked from Daario to Brown Ben, to Jorah, Grey-Worm and Missandei. All of whom looked to her to make a decision. She turned on her heel to look out the great windows of her chambers out at the great city of Meereen.

"Please leave me." She finally said, sending her council scurrying out of her room. Only two men lingered, Daario and Ser Jorah.

"Khaleesi-."

"Please go, Jorah." Dany sighed, not turning to face her beloved knight, who himself frowned as though having taken a dagger to the heart before he turned on his heel to march out.

"It won't be the popular choice. But often the right choices are not the most popular." Daario said, causing Dany to whip her head around.

"Did I not ask you to leave?"

"You did. But I believe you still needed counsel. Or at least someone to listen." Daario smiled, taking a step closer to Daenerys who rolled her eyes irritably.

"How can I call myself Queen if I bend my knee to this boy. He wasn't even the man who stole my father's throne, he's the son of the Usurper's dog."

"Ned Stark was not a dog." Daario said sharply, causing Dany to look taken aback.

"What do you know of Ned Stark?" she asked curiously, causing Daario to purse his lips.

"He was a man of honor. A good man, a just man…and they killed him for it anyway."

"How do you _know_?" Dany asked again, stepping closer to Daario with narrowed eyes.

"Because even in Essos, everyone knows of House Stark. You have every right to hold a grudge against them for what happened to your family, Your Grace. But bear in mind…that you do not know the full story of what transpired during Robert's Rebellion."

"And you do?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye. And so does Ser Jorah, if he cared to say truths that he knew would displease you."

"Jorah has always told me the truth." she snapped back at Daario, annoyed by the matter-of-fact way in which he spoke.

"Aye, he has. But that doesn't mean he likes displeasing you. Far easier for him to agree that the Starks are dogs, when they drove him from his lands. Why did Ned Stark do that again? Because he sold men into slavery."

"Don't try to turn me against Jorah!"

"I'm not. I'm merely reminding you of hard truths. Loyal service means speaking hard truths that you would rather not hear." Daario said, stepping closer to Dany yet again to tilt his head.

"Jorah sold poachers into slavery. He did it for love and they were criminals."

"Was it? A slaver is still a slaver. How many slaves do you think you have freed who were poachers and thieves in the past?" Daario gave Daenerys a long look, whilst the Queen contemplated having Daario arrested. He was right, she realized after a short moment. Too often had she been told what she wanted to hear, and not what she needed to hear. She was young, inexperienced in rule, and she needed to accept that.

"Tell me about Robert's Rebellion. The hard truth." Dany finally said, looking up to give Daario a violet gaze that burned with the blood of the dragon.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Next up the Pisswater Prince and the Royal Fleet's voyage to the east!**_

 _ **Please Review!**_

 _ **(Every review I get makes me write more :D)**_


	22. Chapter 22 - The Fool's Dragon

_**Author's Note: Hello everyone. So below is a summary of some of the events going on around Planetos right now. I would like to say that as much as this is an Alternate Universe, a lot of what happened in show and book canon still occurs.**_

 _ **Hence why most of Dany's scenes and now Aegon's scenes are essentially lifted from canon.**_

 _ **That won't always be the case of course, but this is to illustrate that even though the butterfly effect of Robb meeting with Renly instead of Catelyn has had many repercussions, they don't extend to all corners of the Known World just yet.**_

 _ **Anyway! Hope you enjoy and do leave a review please! I loved how many reviews the last chapter had :D**_

* * *

"I still don't understand…" Daenerys sighed, rubbing her temple. "Why did my brother take the Stark girl? Why did he crown her as _Queen of Love and Beauty_ before all the realm? It sounds so foolish." Daario Naharis merely shrugged as he refilled their goblets with wine.

"I can't say for certain, My Queen. It is said that when Prince Rhaegar crowned Lady Lyanna, all the smiles died, and the hard times returned to Westeros. I believe a year later, she was taken. Though some rumor is that the Dragon Prince convinced her to leave."

"And then her brother rode to King's Landing to demand my brother pay for his crimes, and my father burned him alive and his father too; The Starks." Daenerys sighed, sitting back in her chair despondently.

"I believe…that Brandon Stark had a belt strapped around his neck and a sword just out of his reach. They say…he strangled himself to death trying to reach the sword to save his father. Can the Starks be so bad, My Queen? A gallant fool for a brother and son, a wise father who rode to his son's defense?"

"And then what happened? Why did Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon rise up in rebellion?"

"They were fostered at the Eyrie under the care of Lord Jon Arryn. Robert Baratheon was promised unofficially to Lyanna, a betrothal had not yet been fully brokered when the abduction took place. Your father sent Lord Jon a missive demanding the heads of his wards, and instead of killing the two boys he had raised as sons, he rose his banners in defiance."

"And so too did the boys my father wanted dead." Daenerys sighed, shaking her head slightly before taking a deep gulp of wine. Her eyes watering from the burning in her throat, Dany turned her violet gaze back up to Daario.

"My brother, Rhaegar…what do they say of him?"

"That he loved his Lady Lyanna…and Westeros paid the price in blood and tears." Daario's response silenced Dany for a long moment as she contemplated this man she had imagined for so long. This regal dragon prince that Viserys had always told her about, murdered by the Demon of the Trident, Robert Baratheon, for no reason.

It was a lie.

A gilded lie, or perhaps her brother had truly believed it. Dany rose from her chair to pace the chambers. Robb Stark was coming for her, and though the idea should have caused her to feel some form of nervousness or fear…it did not. That concerned her more than anything.

"Why is Ned Stark considered such a man of honor?" she asked, glancing to Daario who poured himself another goblet of wine.

"Difficult to say. He is beloved of his Northmen, aside from Ser Jorah of course." Daario grinned, taking sip from his goblet "I am told he was fair, he was just, he was good. He never told a lie, they say. Until Joffrey Baratheon threatened his daughters and he lied to keep them safe."

"And they killed him anyway? The son of the man he helped to put on the throne?"

"Rumors have come from the west that Robert's royal children are not his own, but the product of adultery and incest between Jaime Lannister and the Queen Cersei. Former Queen, I should say." Daario lounged back in his chair to rub at his eyes for a moment, as though they were desperately itchy. He did that often.

"The Targaryens practiced-."

"They were not Targaryens. And she was wed to the King, Jaime Lannister was his sworn sword. There is no higher dishonor in Westeros, I imagine." Daario said with a careless shrug that caused Dany's frown to deepen.

"If Robb Stark is truly coming to seek my help against this-…this _Long Night_ …"

"The I urge you to go with him."

"But what about Meereen? Slaver's Bay? There is nothing but discontent and hostility here. If I leave…all the slaves I have freed will know a harsher life than the one I freed them from."

"But if you do not go…these slaves might not know life at all. By all accounts…Robb Stark has the army in Westeros. He does not come to you to seek men and swords, he seeks the Mother of Dragons. As he is doing by coming to seek you out, your voice can be in two places at once."

* * *

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, my Queen. And it has been a long time since that was the case." Catelyn Stark said to her daughter-by-law and the Queen of Westeros in the royal solar of Maegor's Holdfast. Ser Loras, Brienne of Tarth and two Grey Cloaks were in the room with them, as part of the increased security measures for the royal family that Margaery had ordered. "Robb has taken Bran with him, and I understand that Sansa and Arya want to stay here with you. But Rickon is heir to the North. He needs to learn of his country as his brothers did, and I…wish to go home and mourn my losses." Catelyn sighed as she sagged slightly in the large, comfortable chair before the royal desk. Margaery, radiant as ever, offered her mother by law a sad, understanding smile.

"I understand, my lady. I do. But in these perilous times, the dangers of you and Rickon taking the Kingsroad are stacked against you. I could send you aboard the next trade-ship marked for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. The captains will inevitably stop at White Harbor, and you can ride home to Winterfell from there…but I would send Brienne of Tarth with you, as well as a strong guard to protect you and Rickon."

"Margaery, really it's quite unnecesarry-."

"My lady. Jaime Lannister nearly had me killed and your future-grandchildren murdered. I will not have Robb return to tragedy. I would have you protected, my lady. Please." Margaery leaned forward despite her pregnant belly to place a hand atop Catelyn Stark's.

"Very well…" Catelyn sighed, looking from Margaery to Brienne of Tarth with a smile.

* * *

Robb's fleet was massive, and did not sail as a large single group. Instead Robb sent his fastest war-ships ahead in the first wave to lead them and clear the path of any troublesome pirates. This had proved incredibly wise as the first thirty or so royal ships had engaged several pirate ships before the second wave of stronger, larger ships had come in to augment their forces. All the pirate ships had been sent to the bottom of the sea, and the pirates slaughtered in their defiance by the time the third wave arrived in the Stepstones to join the rest of the fleet and resupply.

Robb's flagship had been the last to set sail from King's Landing, but due to the innovative design of Lord Davos Seaworth, it had quickly moved from the third wave of supply ships to catch-up with the second wave. When they had anchored with the rest of the fleet, Robb had met with all his captains aboard _The Howl_ where he received reports that they had not just one stowaway, but two. Robb had been furious when Quentyn Martell was brought before him, having disguised himself as one of the fifty spearmen that Princess Arianne had pledged to Robb's cause from her household guard. Quentyn seemed almost unabashed as he stood before the King of Winter in garbs of a common Dornish soldier.

"Explain yourself." Robb growled as Jon, Smalljon, Dacey and Ser Barristan and Ser Raynald stood behind him in the King's Cabin of _The Howl_. A beautiful but practical cabin that mirrored the Captain's Cabin next to it with it's wooden paneling and furnishings, a map lay across Robb's desk along with many unsealed scrolls. Bran was seated on his wheelchair to Robb's left, observing the proceedings rather than getting involved.

"I have no explanation that would satisfy you, Your Grace." Quentyn said with a shrug of his shoulders that sparked a cold fury in Robb at the younger Dornishman's insubordination.

"That was not a request. We are not in Westeros anymore, your attitude now dictates whether you are my prisoner or my companion. Choose wisely." Quentyn held Robb's gaze for a long time, before flicking his eyes to Jon, Smalljon and Dacey who glared at Quentyn behind Robb. With a deep sigh, Quentyn Martell began to explain himself.

"I had no business in King's Landing. My sister is the heir to Dorne, and she had forged a strong friendship with your Queen that rendered my presence in the capital innate. I knew you would not permit me to join your voyage to the Dragon Queen. I am here because my aunt was Princess Elia Targaryen, my cousins were Prince Aegon and the Princess Rhaenys. By all the laws of Gods and Men, Daenerys is my kin. I believed that my presence would have helped." Quentyn's statement caused Robb to take a deep sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. Quentyn believed he was Daenerys's kin, when Jon himself was more related to Dany than Quentyn could ever hope to be. But it had been Robb and Jon's desire that this truth remain hidden until they met Daenerys Targaryen themselves. It seemed the time had come upon them sooner than either had hoped for. Robb glanced to Jon who closed his eyes for a moment before giving his brother, who was truly his cousin, a grim nod.

"Does your sister know that you are here? Or will there be a great search for you?" Robb asked, turning his blue-eyed glare back to Quentyn.

"Arianne knew, and she also knew she could not dissuade me from coming, and so she did not try. The spearmen of House Martell are here to protect me as much they are here to fight for you."

"Why didn't she tell me?" Jon asked, his voice marred by a touch of anger.

"Why _would_ she…?" Quentyn asked, looking to the Lord Hand in confusion, Robb, who could have guessed that Jon and Arianne had taken their courtship to the 'next level', decided to end this meeting before anything else could be said.

"Give Prince Quentyn a bunk on _The Howl_. He will sail with me. For I do not have the time to turn back and return him to Dorne, nor do I have a ship to spare." Robb made it clear that Quentyn was an inconvenience to him, but at least the boy was a trained fighter. Quentyn had managed to remain hidden far longer than the other stowaway, who had been discovered almost immediately in the cargo bay of one of the supply ships; Tyrion Lannister.

"You _told_ me you were returning to the Westerlands." Robb said when the Imp had been brought before him after Quentyn had been taken away. A day before Robb had set sail, Tyrion Lannister had come to him to ask leave to return to Casterly Rock and settle his affairs as the new Lord of the West while Robb was away. Robb had seen no problem with it at the time, but he should have recognized that all Lannisters were liars.

"Why should I not have you executed for lying to me? I gave you a chance, Lannister."

"Whether you choose to believe it or not, I am here to _serve you_." Tyrion Lannister stated quietly, making Robb raise his eyebrow curiously.

"Explain."

"You won't like it." Tyrion sighed, causing Robb to twitch angrily and look up to his council who stood behind him.

"What is it with these-… _did I ask you a question?_ Explain yourself. Now."

"Varys and I both recognized that while you are taking your most loyal councilors with you, you do not have anyone who can speak well-enough to convince Daenerys that your cause is worthy of her time. Who is to negotiate with Daenerys Targaryen if she turns you away? You, the young, bold Wolf King who now holds her father's throne? Granted you have become much better at politics since you took the Throne, but you still do not have a silver tongue assured to win her to your side. Not like your dear wife does. Will the Lord Hand speak for you? He too is young, and hotheaded despite his Stark blood. Smalljon Umber? A fierce warrior, you are…but not a man for negotiations And Dacey Mormont? Well, her cousin might be by Daenerys's side, but that doesn't mean they are close enough for Dacey to convince Jorah of the gravity of the situation."

"Kill him, Robb." Smalljon growled, grasping the pommel of his sword tightly.

"You aren't making a good case to spare you." Robb said causing Tyrion to roll his eyes.

"This is what I mean. This girl has spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad ... a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and felled sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet. Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your fleet and say 'Good day, Daenerys, my family rose to depose yours but I need you to come back with me now and fight against something you don't understand. Oh, did I mention that I hold the Iron Throne now, and that I'm not going to give it back to you?'" Tyrion's words caused Robb and his council to shift uncomfortably where they stood, for they recognized the truth in his words.

"Are any of you able to argue against me? If so, I will take a rowboat back to Westeros. But if not, then I prove my point that you need someone who can speak on your behalf and convince the Queen to return to Westeros as your ally. Not your enemy." Robb sank back into his seat to pinch the bride of his nose in annoyance. He looked up to Bran, who merely shrugged. This was not his call, he recognized that, and for all the stock that the group put in Bran's visions, they were not set in stone. Tyrion could be right, but Bran could not surely say.

"I want to have you thrown overboard for lying to me, but I cannot deny that you are right."

"King Robb…" Tyrion began making to step forward, only for the Stark guards behind him to yank his shoulder back. Robb raised a hand that caused them to reluctantly step back as Tyrion approached his desk "I am a dwarf. I have killed men, tis true. But I am not a warrior. I have never been trained as one. Had I approached you to ask to accompany you, you would have turned me down. Varys counseled me to-."

"Varys? He is involved in this plot as well?"

"You call it a plot, but yet all we want is to secure you as King. Already you have done more for Westeros than a dozen Kings before you. I believe in you, Robb Stark. That is why I lied to you, because you would not recognize that you needed me. Not until the moment presents itself. If you do not need me in Meereen, then flog me and strip me of my titles. But if you do…then I ask that you give me faith, faith that I serve you and only you. Not my father languishing in Oberyn Martell's custody, not my brother, who I admittedly love, but whom seeks to hurt you. And especially not my sister." Robb gazed over his brow at Tyrion Lannister as he tapped his fingers on his desk. Behind him, Tyrion could see that Dacey Mormont and Smalljon Umber wanted him dead. Jon Stark, his friend, looked conflicted. Only King Robb seemed to come to a decision.

"Give _Lord_ Tyrion a bunk as well." Robb finally said, causing the Stark guards to pull a grateful Tyrion out of the cabin. Robb pressed his face into his palms, before rising from his desk.

"Smalljon, Dacey, my knights of the Kingsguard. There is something you must know..." Robb began as he paced around to the front of his desk, rubbing his mouth with his hand for a moment before looking to Jon.

"Quentyn Martell believes he is Queen Daenerys's closest living kin. But it is a falsehood."

"Your Grace…? How so…? The Martells have the strongest and closest blood ties to the Targaryens of this generation." Ser Barristan looked to Robb with confusion, causing the Wolf King to sigh once again.

"Because Prince Rhaegar had another child, a child that is without Martell blood, but is indeed his only surviving son. Jon…is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and my aunt, the Lady Lyanna Stark." Robb dropped his hand from his face to look at Jon as he spoke. Smalljon, Dacey, Ser Barristan and Ser Raynald looked slowly from Robb to Jon, who had his head bowed and his eyes closed as his true parentage was revealed.

* * *

Jon Connington, or Griff as he had come to be known, paced angrily in place in his camp just outside of Volon Therys, a walled Volantene town that would have been considered a city in Westeros. It lay several hundred leagues to the west of Meereen, where Griff wished to lead his small party that was stealthily camped behind a wooded hill just outside of the town. But first there was important business that needed to be conducted here with the Golden Company, a company of sellswords that had been founded by Aegor Rivers, one of King Aegon the Unworthy's Great Bastards, and made up of exiles and the sons of exiles who had been stripped of their lands since the Blackfyre Rebellion and after. During Robert's Rebellion, Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost had been stripped of his lands and titles by the very King he served; Aerys Targaryen. It was Robert Baratheon who ensured his exile across the Narrow Sea. He, who had been Prince Rhaegar's closest friend, his closest companion, and who had even served on a Council that sought to restore Rhaegar's son to the Iron Throne.

"Where in the Seven Hells is Haldon?" Griff barked to Lady Lemore, a handsome woman in her forties who had joined them to teach 'Prince Aegon' of the ways of the faith. She had once been a Septa of King's Landing, with lax morals. That had been before the deaths of the Targaryens and the sack of the city. After the horrors of the sack, Lemore had turned to the Faith more than ever. In the years that had passed, she had been a dedicated teacher to 'Aegon' on the matters of the Seven. "How long should it take to buy three horses?" Griff continued, turning to glance at Lemore who merely shrugged before offering her opinion.

"My lord, would it not be safer to leave the boy here in camp?"

"He is your prince, remember that. And aye, safer it might be. But wiser it is not, this is the road he has been raised to walk on."

"We have gone to great lengths to keep the boy hidden all these years," Lemore reminded him. "The time will come for him to wash his hair and declare himself, I know, but that time is not now. Not to a camp of sellswords."

" _Prince_." Jon Connington repeated irritably. For in his deluded mind, he refused to acknowledge that the boy in his charge was the son of a tanner from King's Landing, bought by the Spider for a jug of Arbor Gold. The boy that Jon Connington fought for had no more right to the Iron Throne than any of the smallfolk in King's Landing. He had no blood of repute, royal or lordly, but that did not stop Jon Connington from championing him in the name of his Silver Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen.

"If Harry Strickland means him ill, hiding him here in the camp will not protect him. Strickland has eight thousand swords at his command. We have Duck. Aegon is all that could be wanted in a prince. They need to see that, Strickland and the rest. These are his own men."

"His because they're bought and paid for. Eight thousand armed strangers, plus hangers-on and camp followers. All it takes is one to bring us all to ruin. If any of them decide to defect to Robb Stark, the rest will follow. He has the numbers, he has the support of the lords high and small, and now he has the love of the people, the one thing we clung to as hope to support the boy. You do not know these men, my lord. It has been a dozen years since you last rode with the Golden Company." Lemore was not wrong, he knew. Whatever their sires or their grandsires might have been back in Westeros before their exile, the men of the Golden Company were now sellswords to the bone. When Griff had ridden with them, he had been a glorious exile that was loyal to the true monarchy. He had risen through their ranks before the Spider had counseled him to fake his death. The shame of the lie still stuck in his craw, but Varys had insisted it was necessary. " _We want no songs about the gallant exile_ ," the eunuch had tittered, in that mincing voice of his.

" _Those who die heroic deaths are long remembered, thieves and drunks and cravens soon forgotten_."

"Griff, " Yandry called "It's Haldon." Yandry was the Captain of the only boat Griff's party had to them since the Red Council splintered into three factions. Since then, Griff had counted Yandry amongst his most skilled commanders. So at his announcement, Jon Connington turned to see that it was indeed Haldon. The Halfmaester looked hot and bedraggled as he made his way through the camp to Griff. Sweat had left dark rings beneath the arms of his light linen robes, and he had the same sour look on his long face when Griff had told him that the Red Council had splintered and that the Fat-Man of Pentos and the Spider now supported Robb Stark in Westeros. He was leading three horses, however, and that was all that mattered to Jon Connington. Haldon had been part of their party since the beginning. An acolyte in service to Jon Connington's late Maester, he inherited the duties to instruct 'Prince Aegon' in history, governance, strategy, letters and numbers. They called him Halfmaester for he had never earned his chain in Westeros.

"Bring the boy," Griff told Lemore. "See that he's ready."

"As you say," she answered, unhappily. So be it. He had grown fond of Lemore, but that did not mean he required her approval. Her task had been to instruct the 'prince' in the doctrines of the Faith, and she had done that. No amount of prayer would put him on the Iron Throne, however. That was Griff's task. He had failed Prince Rhaegar once. He would not fail his 'son', not whilst life remained in his body.

Haldon's horses did not please him. "Were these the best that you could find?" he complained to the Halfmaester.

"They were," said Haldon, in an irritated tone, "and you had best not ask what they cost us. With Dothraki across the river, half the populace of Volon Therys has decided they would sooner be elsewhere, so horseflesh grows more expensive every day."

"They will do well enough, I suppose," he told Haldon. "The camp is only three miles south." _The Shy Maid_ , Yandry's ship, would have gotten them there more quickly, but he preferred to keep Harry Strickland ignorant of where he and the 'prince' had been. Nor did he relish the prospect of splashing through the shallows to climb some muddy riverbank. That sort of entrance might serve for a sellsword and his son, but not for a great lord and his 'prince'. When the lad emerged from the cabin with Lemore by his side, Griff looked him over carefully from head to heel. The 'prince' wore sword and dagger, black boots polished to a high sheen, a black cloak lined with blood-red silk. With his hair washed and cut and freshly dyed a deep, dark blue, his eyes looked blue as well. At his throat he wore three huge square-cut rubies on a chain of black iron, a gift from Magister Illyrio, when he had supported them to take the throne. Red and black. Dragon colors. That was good. "You look a proper prince," he told the boy. "Your father would be proud if he could see you."

Young Griff, as they had called him to conceal his identity all these years, ran his fingers through his hair. "I am sick of this blue dye. We should have washed it out." He complained in an arrogant, snotty sort of way that Jon Connington was completely oblivious to, but caused Lemore and Haldon to exchange a subtle glance behind his back.

"Soon enough. Shall we go? Your army awaits your coming."

"I like the sound of that. _My_ army." A smile flashed across his pinched, pointed face, then vanished. "Are they, though? They're sellswords. I remember once that Yandry said to never trust a sellsword."

"There is wisdom in that," Griff admitted. It might have been different if his friend, Blackheart, still commanded, but Myles 'Blackheart' Toyne was four years dead, and Homeless Harry Strickland was a different sort of man. He would not say that to the boy, however. There were enough doubts in his young head about Robb Stark to the west and his powerful aunt to the east. "Not every man is what he seems, and a prince especially has good cause to be wary ... but go too far down that road, and the mistrust can poison you, make you sour and fearful." The Mad King was one such. By the end, even Rhaegar saw that plain enough. "You would do best to walk a middle course. Let men earn your trust with loyal service ... but when they do, be generous and openhearted."

The boy nodded. "I will remember."

They gave the 'prince' the best of the three horses, a big grey gelding so pale that he was almost white. Griff and Haldon rode beside him on lesser mounts. They found the Golden Company beside the river as the sun was lowering in the west. It was a camp that even Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and one of Jon Connington's late great friends, might have approved of - compact, orderly, defensible. A deep ditch had been dug around it, with sharpened stakes inside. The tents stood in rows, with broad avenues between them. The latrines had been placed beside the river, so the current would wash away the wastes. The horse lines were to the north.

Tall battle standards of cloth-of-gold flapped atop lofty poles along the perimeters of the camp. Beneath them, armed and armored sentries walked their rounds with spears and crossbows, watching every approach. Griff had feared that the company might have grown lax under Harry Strickland, who had always seemed more concerned with making friends than enforcing discipline; but it would seem his worries had been misplaced. At the gate, Haldon said something to the sergeant of guards, and a runner was sent off to find a captain. When he turned up, he was just as ugly as the last time Griff laid eyes on him. A big-bellied, shambling hulk of a man, the sellsword had a seamed face crisscrossed with old scars. His right ear looked as if a dog had chewed on it and his left was missing. "Have they made you a captain, Flowers?" Griff said. "I thought the Golden Company had standards."

"It's worse than that, you bugger," said Franklyn Flowers. "They knighted me as well." He clasped Jon Connington by the forearm, pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "You look awful, even for a man's been dead a dozen years. Blue hair, is it? When Harry said you'd be turning up, I almost shit myself. And Haldon, you icy cunt, good to see you too. Still have that stick up your arse?" He turned to Young Griff, the 'Prince'. "And this would be..."

"My squire. Lad, this is Franklyn Flowers."

The 'prince' acknowledged him with a nod. "Flowers is a bastard name. You're from the Reach." 'Aegon's' words caused Franklyn Flowers' face to darken with insult, though he knew better than to react in front of Jon Connington. Instead he growled a stiff response to this 'Prince'.

"Aye. My mother was a washerwoman at Cider Hall till one of milord's sons raped her. Makes me a sort o' brown apple Fossoway, the way I see it." Flowers waved them through the gate. "Come with me. Strickland's called all the officers to his tent. War council. The bloody Volantenes are rattling their spears and demanding to know our intentions."

The men of the Golden Company were outside their tents, dicing, drinking, and swatting away flies. Griff wondered how many of them knew who he was. Few enough. Twelve years is a long time. Even the men who'd ridden with him might not recognize the exile lord Jon Connington of the fiery red beard in the lined, clean-shaved face and dyed blue hair of the sellsword Griff. So far as most of them were concerned, Connington had drunk himself to death in Lys after being driven from the company in disgrace for stealing from the war chest.

What does a eunuch know of a man' s honor? Jon Connington had gone along with the Spider's scheme for the boy's sake, but that did not mean he liked it any better. Let me live long enough to see the boy sit the Iron Throne, and Varys will pay for abandoning him for the Young Wolf's cause.

The captain-general's tent was made of cloth-of-gold and surrounded by a ring of pikes topped with gilded skulls. One skull was larger than the rest, grotesquely malformed. Below it was a second, no larger than a child's fist. Maelys the Monstrous and his nameless brother. The other skulls had a sameness to them, though several had been cracked and splintered by the blows that had slain them, and one had filed, pointed teeth. "Which one is Myles?" Griff found himself asking.

"There. On the end." Flowers pointed. "Wait. I'll go announce you." He slipped inside the tent, leaving Griff to contemplate the gilded skull of his old friend. In life, Ser Myles Toyne had been ugly as sin. His famous forebear, the dark and dashing Terrence Toyne of whom the singers sang, had been so fair of face that even the king's mistress could not resist him; but Myles had been possessed of jug ears, a crooked jaw, and the biggest nose that Jon Connington had ever seen. When he smiled at you, though, none of that mattered. Blackheart, his men had named him, for the sigil on his shield. Myles had loved the name and all it hinted at. " _A captain-general should be feared, by friend and foe alike_ ," he had once confessed. " _If men think me cruel, so much the better_." The truth was otherwise. Soldier to the bone, Toyne was fierce but always fair, a father to his men and always generous to the exile lord Jon Connington. Death had robbed him of his ears, his nose, and all his warmth. The smile remained, transformed into a glittering golden grin. All the skulls were grinning, even Bittersteel's on the tall pike in the center. What does he have to grin about? He died defeated and alone, a broken man in an alien land. On his deathbed, Ser Aegor Rivers had famously commanded his men to boil the flesh from his skull, dip it in gold, and carry it before them when they crossed the sea to retake Westeros. His successors had followed his example.

Jon Connington might have been one of those successors if his exile had gone otherwise. He had spent five years with the company, rising from the ranks to a place of honor at Toyne's right hand. Had he stayed, it might well have been him the men turned to after Myles died, instead of Harry Strickland. But Griff did not regret the path he'd chosen. _When I return to Westeros, it will not be as a skull atop a pole._ Flowers stepped out of the tent. "Go on in."

The high officers of the Golden Company rose from stools and camp chairs as they entered. Old friends greeted Griff with smiles and embraces, the new men more formally. _Not all of them are as glad to see us as they would have me believe._ He sensed knives behind some of the smiles. Until quite recently, most of them had believed that Lord Jon Connington was safely in his grave, and no doubt many felt that was a fine place for him, a man who would steal from his brothers-in-arms. Griff might have felt the same way in their place. The lie that Jon Connington had stolen from the Golden Company then drunk himself to death after being cast out had been spread to every corner of Westeros.

Ser Franklyn did the introductions. Some of the sellsword captains bore bastard names, as Flowers did: Rivers, Hill, Stone. Others claimed names that had once loomed large in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms; Griff counted two Strongs, three Peakes, a Mudd, a Mandrake, a Lothston, a pair of Coles. Not all were genuine, he knew. In the free companies, a man could call himself whatever he chose. By any name, the sellswords displayed a rude splendor. Like many in their trade, they kept their worldly wealth upon their persons: jeweled swords, inlaid armor, heavy torcs, and fine silks were much in evidence, and every man there wore a lord's ransom in golden arm rings. Each ring signified one year's service with the Golden Company. Marq Mandrake, whose pox-scarred face had a hole in one cheek where a slave's mark had been burned away, wore a chain of golden skulls as well. Not every captain was of Westerosi blood. Black Balaq, a white-haired Summer Islander with skin dark as soot, commanded the company's archers, as in Blackheart's day. He wore a feathered cloak of green and orange, magnificent to behold. The cadaverous Volantene, Gorys Edoryen, had replaced Strickland as paymaster. A leopard skin was draped across one shoulder, and hair as red as blood tumbled to his shoulders in oiled ringlets though his pointed beard was black.

Ghosts and liars, Griff thought, as he surveyed their faces. Revenants from forgotten wars, lost causes, failed rebellions, a brotherhood of the failed and the fallen, the disgraced and the disinherited. This is my army. This is our best hope.

He turned to Harry Strickland.

Homeless Harry looked little like a warrior. Portly, with a big round head, mild grey eyes, and thinning hair that he brushed sideways to conceal a bald spot, Strickland sat in a camp chair soaking his feet in a tub of salt water. "You will pardon me if I do not rise," he said by way of greeting.

"Our march was wearisome, and my toes are prone to blisters. It is a curse."

 _It is a mark of weakness. You sound like an old woman_. The Stricklands had been part of the Golden Company since its founding, Harry's great-grandsire having lost his lands when he rose with the Black Dragon during the first Blackfyre Rebellion.

"I can make you an ointment for that," said Haldon, "and there are certain mineral salts that will toughen your skin."

"That is kind of you." Strickland beckoned to his squire. "Watkyn, wine for our friends."

"Thank you, but no," said Griff. "We will drink water."

"As you prefer." The captain-general smiled up at the 'prince'. "And this must be your son."

Does he know? Griff wondered. How much did Myles tell him? Varys had been adamant about the need for secrecy. The plans that he and Illyrio had made with Blackheart had been known to them alone. The rest of the company had been left ignorant. What they did not know they could not let slip. And only Jon Connington, Varys and Illyrio had known of the boy's true parentage.

That time was done, though. "No man could have asked for a worthier son," Griff said, "but the lad is not of my blood, and his name is not Griff. My lords, I give you Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, by Princess Elia of Dorne ... soon, with your help, to be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

Silence greeted his announcement. Someone cleared his throat. One of the Coles refilled his wine cup from the flagon. Gorys Edoryen played with one of his corkscrew ringlets and murmured something in a tongue Griff did not know. Laswell Peake coughed, Mandrake and Lothston exchanged a glance.

 _They know,_ Griff realized then. _They have known all along_. He turned to look at Harry Strickland. "When did you tell them?"

The captain-general wriggled his blistered toes in his footbath.

"When we reached the river. The company was restless, with good reason. We walked away from an easy campaign in the Disputed Lands, and for what? So we could swelter in this god-awful heat watching our coins melt away and our blades go to rust whilst I turn away rich contracts?"

That news made Griff's skin crawl. "Who?"

"The Yunkishmen. The envoy that they sent to woo Volantis has already dispatched three free companies to Slaver's Bay. He wishes us to be the fourth and offers twice what Myr was paying us, plus a slave for every man in the company, ten for every officer, and a hundred choice maidens all for me."

 _Bloody hell_. "That would require thousands of slaves. Where do the Yunkishmen expect to find so many?"

"In Meereen." Strickland beckoned to his squire. "Watkyn, a towel. This water's growing cool, and my toes have wrinkled up like raisins. No, not that towel, the soft one."

"You refused him," said Griff. "I told him I would think on his proposal." Harry winced as his squire toweled his feet. "Gentle with the toes. Think of them as thin-skinned grapes, lad. You want to dry them without crushing them. Pat, do not scrub. Yes, like that." He turned back to Griff. "A blunt refusal would have been unwise. The men might rightly ask if I had taken leave of my wits."

"You will have work for your blades soon enough."

"Will we?" asked Lysono Maar. "I assume you know that the Targaryen girl lingers in Meereen."

"We heard that tale in Selhorys."

"No tale. Simple truth. The why of it is harder to grasp. Sack Meereen, aye, why not? I would have done the same in her place. The slaver cities reek of gold, and conquest requires coin. But why linger? Fear? Madness? Sloth?"

"The why of it does not matter." Harry Strickland unrolled a pair of striped woolen stockings. "She is in Meereen and we are here, where the Volantenes grow daily more unhappy with our presence. We came to raise up a king and queen who would lead us home to Westeros, but this Targaryen girl seems more intent on planting olive trees than in reclaiming her father's throne. Meanwhile, her foes gather. Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince will both be in the field against her and soon enough the fleets of Old Volantis will descend on her as well. What does she have? Bedslaves with sticks?"

"Unsullied," said Griff. "And dragons."

"Dragons, aye," the captain-general said, "but young ones, hardly more than hatchlings." Strickland eased his sock over his blisters and up his ankle. "How much will they avail her when all these armies close about her city like a fist?"

Tristan Rivers drummed his fingers on his knee. "All the more reason that we must reach her quickly, I say. If Daenerys will not come to us, we must go to Daenerys."

"Can we walk across the waves, ser?" asked Marq Mandrake. "I tell you again, we cannot reach the silver queen by sea. I slipped into Volantis myself, posing as a trader, to learn how many ships might be available to us. The harbor teems with galleys, cogs, and carracks of every sort and size, yet even so I soon found myself consorting with smugglers and pirates. We have eight thousand men in the company, as I am sure Lord Connington remembers from his years of service with us. Five hundred knights, each with three horses. Five hundred squires, with one mount apiece. A pirate ship will not suffice. We would need a pirate fleet ... and even if we found one, the word has come back from Slaver's Bay that Meereen has been closed off by blockade."

"We could feign acceptance of the Yunkish offer," urged Gorys Edoryen. "Allow the Yunkai'i to transport us to the east, then return their gold beneath the walls of Meereen."

"One broken contract is stain enough upon the honor of the company." Homeless Harry Strickland paused with his blistered foot in hand. "Let me remind you, it was Myles Toyne who put his seal to this secret pact, not me. I would honor his agreement if I could, but how? It seems plain to me that the Targaryen girl is never coming west. Westeros may have once been her father's kingdom. But now it belongs to the Starks. Meereen is hers. If she can break the Yunkai'i, she'll be Queen of Slaver's Bay. If not, she'll die long before we could hope to reach her."

His words came as no surprise to Griff. Harry Strickland had always been a genial man, better at hammering out contracts than at hammering on foes. He had a nose for gold, but whether he had the belly for battle was another question.

"There is the land route," suggested Franklyn Flowers. "The demon road is death. We will lose half the company to desertion if we attempt that march, and bury half of those who remain beside the road. It grieves me to say it, but Magister Illyrio and his friends may have been unwise to put so much hope on this child queen in the first place, and have now seen the folly of their actions by supporting Robb Stark."

 _No_ , thought Griff, _they were most unwise to put their hopes on you_. And then 'Prince Aegon' spoke. "Then put your hopes on me," he said.

"Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar's sister, but I am Rhaegar's son. I am the only dragon that you need." Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon's shoulder.

"Spoken boldly," he said, "but think what you are saying."

"I have," the lad insisted. "Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me...in Westeros." The boy's words were met with a tense and awkward silence. The Captains either chewed their lips or continued to fiddle with their jeweled daggers and the elegant silks they were.

"Is this what you have been raising, Connington? A boy with curd between his ears? Robb Stark raised the strongest army the Known World has ever seen to settle that bloody country. They are now loyal to him from Dorne to the Wall. Did you know that? Perhaps you are the foolish one, Jon. For even the Fat-Man and the Spider abandoned your cause." Frankly Flowers finally spoke up, his words causing Griff and Young Griff to both go red in anger.

The captain-general looked as if someone had slapped his face for a moment, before he too was inspired by what Frankly had said. "Aye, Flowers has the right of it! Why are we fighting for Westeros, when even the Mother of Dragons has settled herself in Meereen. We've heard another tale, Connington. A tale from the Fat-Man about this boy." Homeless Harry had found courage then, jabbing a finger at the boy's direction as he spoke. Jon Connington's heart caught in his throat as he glared at Harry.

"Lies."

"You don't even know what I'm about to say." Strickland spat, before rising from his chair.

"For years they told us this boy was Rhaegar's son, swapped out with a lowborn tanner's son for a jug of Arbor Gold. But the Fat-Man said they were too late. Gregor Clegane dashed the real Prince's head against a wall, and all they had left was this lowborn babe. Why not sell him as the Prince, eh? Why not craft your own King to place on the Iron Throne?" Harry glowered at Jon before looking to 'Aegon' who blistered with fury.

"That was not me! Lies by the Spider! I am Aegon son of Rhaegar! I am the one true King of Westeros, and I will have my father's rightful throne once more! You all dedicated yourself to restoring the dragon to the Iron Throne. Now I am here before you, and you claim lies to shy away from your duty! Are you cowards or men that you would turn away from the glory of achieving what your exiled ancestors had lived and died for?" Aegon's speech caused some of the Captains to go silent before murmuring quietly to each other.

"Perhaps he is dragon after all…for only a fool would scream at men of the Golden Company in such a way. A fool or a prince." Harry Strickland said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "Either way there is no way we can take Westeros alone. Rhaegar's sister has dragons. Rhaegar's son does not. We do not have the strength to take Westeros back from Robb Stark without Daenerys and her army. Her Unsullied."

Griff had heard enough of the captain-general's cowardice. "We will not be alone. Dorne will join us, must join us. Prince Aegon is Elia's son as well as Rhaegar's."

"Dorne has pledged fealty to the Wolf King." Flowers said from the corner of the tent, causing Jon Connington's face to flush with anger.

"They do not know that our Prince is alive surely?" Gorys asked, only for Jon to push on with that assumption. They did not need to know that Prince Doran had promised Jon the force of Dorne when 'Aegon' returned.

"They will join us when we land." Jon Connington said with confidence he did not have.

"But we must land with more strength than Dorne. We need Daenerys. We need her dragons." Homeless Harry repeated stubbornly.

"The Prince is your best chance to return your names to the glories that they once were. Support him now. Follow him now and he will restore the Lothstons to Harrenhal, he will give Blackhaven to the Coles. The Great Castles of Storm's End, Winterfell, the Eyrie and Highgarden will all be ours. Given to Aegon's most loyal men. What say you, men of the Golden Company? Will you fight as your fathers and grandfathers had sworn to do, or will you take a contract against the very blood you promised to defend?"

"Prince Aegon," said Tristan Rivers, "we are your men. Is this your wish, that we sail west instead of east?" 'Aegon' looked up, his pinched features bristling with the pride of being told he had his own men. But with a thoughtful glance to Jon Connington, the boy shook his head.

"It is not," Aegon replied reluctantly, before sighing. "It seems that both Lord Jon and your good Captain-General Strickland believe that there is more to be gained by allying with my aunt in Meereen. I do not want to lead you all into a slaughter, but I will not so easily allow my father's throne to fall into Robb Stark's hands. Nor will I forgive those who betrayed me. We will go to Meereen. We will find my Aunt, and we will bring the swords of the Golden Company to help her against her enemies. Then together, a Targaryen King and Queen will return to Westeros to kill Robb Stark and take back the Iron Throne. Kneel before me now, Captains and Commanders of the Golden Company, and return to service of the true monarchy of Westeros; House Targaryen of King's Landing!" One by one, the men of the Golden Company rose, knelt, and laid their swords at the feet of his young prince. The last to do so was Homeless Harry Strickland, blistered feet and all.

Jon Connington stood behind the 'prince' proudly, arms folded and watching the men who kneeled before him. The men who would help take them to the Mother of Dragons, where Jon was sure that 'Aegon's' charm would win her to his cause as he had won the stubborn Golden Company captains. Today Aegon had appealed to these men's ancient blood desires to return to Westeros as glorious loyalists to the dragon, to slaughter the traitorous rebels of Stark, Baratheon and Lannister for good and all, and put Rhaegar's son upon the Iron Throne.

* * *

"The Valyrian Peninsula." Jojen Reed said as _The Howl_ sailed through the Summer Sea to hook around into the Gulf of Grief. Even from here, they could all see the Smoking Sea and the outlines of land.

"You know what they say, _the Doom still rules in Valyria_." Tyrion Lannister said. There were seven of them standing on the deck, looking out at the boiling water and grey smoke rising from over a hundred leagues away. It was as close as any brave sailor dared to dwell to the Doom of Valyria. King Robb, Jon Stark, Bran Stark, Ser Barristan, Jojen and Dacey Mormont glanced at Tyrion as he began to speak once more.

"It was written that on the day of Doom every hill for five hundred miles had split asunder to fill the air with ash and smoke and fire, blazes so hot and hungry that even the dragons in the sky were engulfed and consumed. Great rents had opened in the earth, swallowing palaces, temples, entire towns. Lakes boiled or turned to acid, mountains burst, fiery fountains spewed molten rock a thousand feet into the air, red clouds rained down dragonglass and the black blood of demons, and to the north the ground splintered and collapsed and fell in on itself and an angry sea came rushing in. The proudest city in all the world was gone in an instant, its fabled empire vanished in a day, the Lands of the Long Summer scorched and drowned and blighted. An empire built on blood and fire." Tyrion glanced to Jon Stark, who had paled at the description of what had befallen the motherland of his father's fathers.

"But the Targaryens escaped?" Jon finally asked, glancing to Tyrion Lannister who smirked and nodded. Word of Jon's true parentage had spread through _The Howl_ like wildfire. Tyrion Lannister had been most intrigued, and spent much of his time onboard the King's flagship quizzing his friend on his secret.

"Aye, they did. Your ancestors fled to Dragonstone some time before the Doom. The only dragonlords to survive." Tyrion explained, before looking back over to the ruins of Valyria as it slipped slowly out of sight. "Thousands of years the Valyrians were the best in the world at almost everything. And then -

"And then they weren't." Dacey Mormont said, Tyrion looked back at her with a grin and a nod.

"And then they weren't. What was the old song? _They held each other close and turned their backs upon the end. The hills that split asunder and the black that ate the skies; The flames that shot so high and hot that even dragons burned; Would never be the final sights that fell upon their eyes. A fly upon a wall, the waves the sea wind whipped and churned-…"_

 _"The city of a thousand years, and all that men had learned; The Doom consumed it all alike, and neither of them turned."_ Robb, Jon and Dacey, students of history as taught by their Maesters and lovers of the old songs alike, chorused together to finish the old song about the Doom of Valyria. Tyrion gave a slow clap in appreciation.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Whoomp there it is!**_

 _ **I would like to make a personal shoutout to Quillblade15, one of my loyal reviewers on here who has done a few awesome images on their DeviantArt account.**_

 _ **The mashup they did of the Howl on their account is truly amazing, and exactly how I picture the Howl in my story, as well their using a map from CK2 that shows my intended path for the royal fleet's voyage to Meereen more or less. Do check it out at quillblade15 dot deviantart dot com**_

 _ **Please do leave a Review**_

 _ **xoxo**_


	23. Chapter 23 - The Wolf & The Dragon

"I would say the babies could be here in the next two to three months, Your Grace." Grand Maester Rickard said with a smile as he helped Queen Margaery to her feet.

"I am torn between wishing that it is sooner for my sake, and wishing that it was further away so that Robb can be here." Margaery sighed, glancing up to her companions who offered sympathetic smiles. It was one of the few days of the week that Margaery did not hold court, and so had wished to be in the Gardens before the temperatures dropped even further. A brazier was roaring in the center of the terrace that she and her friends and ladies-in-waiting were making use of. Ser Loras and Ser Robar were on guard around the Queen and Princess Sansa Stark, with an additional eight Stark soldiers in brown boiled leather armor and steel breast plates under their command.

The already stringent security around the Red Keep and King's Landing had increased exponentially since the attempt on Margaery's life, the castle itself was open only to the lords and knights whom Robb and Margaery had personally invited to court. Lord Varys had conducted a massive investigation into the castle and its servants that had exposed a group of three Lannister soldiers hiding in the bowels of the castle after the Red Keep had been locked down. Lord Protector Brynden Tully and Ser Garlan Tyrell had taken charge of their interrogations after that. Margaery had been reluctant at first, until she had been reminded that the Lannister would have cut her babies from her, and left her for dead under the orders of Jaime Lannister. It had taken two weeks of rough treatment, but they had gotten the information they wanted. Margaery wondered what order Robb would have given if he had been here. If she knew her husband as well as she thought he did, his cold fury would have meant their deaths at his own hands. She was somewhat glad Robb was away in that regard…

"Is there any word from my brother yet, Rickard?" Margaery asked as she settled herself between Sansa and Leonette.

"Not yet, my Queen."

"They've only been gone a few days, Margaery. It will take them some time to track the Kingslayer down, even with the information they prisoners gave them." Loras Tyrell counseled to his sister as he stood behind her protectively with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Margaery merely turned her head slightly to hear her brother's words before looking back up to the Grand Maester with the question that was ever-present on her mind.

"And Robb?" The Grand Maester could only offer a kind smile before shaking his head.

"Not yet, Your Grace. But I shall return to my chambers to check the rookery now, with your leave."

"Go on, Grand Maester." Margaery said with a smile and a sigh, before shaking her head and pushing away the plate of lemon cakes that her cousin Alinor offered her.

"How long would it take to sail to Meereen?" Margaery asked her brother, for Loras to shrug thoughtfully before he answered.

"I'm sure Lord Davos had the right of it. He charted the fleet's route with the King himself."

"Yes..." Margaery sighed, rubbing her brow. She had asked the Master of Ships more than once how long Robb's voyage would take, and he had repeatedly answered that it could take anywhere from forty-five to sixty days one way. It had been just under two moons since her husband had set sail, and they had no word of the fleet since reports of their destroying a den of pirates in the Stepstones. Margaery remained mostly silent as her companioned chatted and lunched around her, there were plenty of matters on her mind since Robb had left. The burden of the crown was not one that could be carried alone, even with the remnants of the Small Council that she had by her side. Margaery was consumed with thoughts of the harvest, of the troublesome lords who had tested her reign while her husband was away, of the Wall and the Long Night, of her husband so many thousands of leagues away from her. She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice the dusky-toned and beautiful Princess of Dorne approaching her party with a small retinue of her own.

"Queen Margaery, I am so sorry for being late. I had received a letter from my father in Sunspear that required my urgent response." Arianne gave a dazzling smile before bowing to Margaery respectfully. The Rose Queen knew the two girls by her side; the pretty young one was Jayne Ladybright, a Dornish noblewoman who had attended the Princess Arianne since they were girls. The stunning blonde girl with blue eyes was Tyene Sand, one of the infamous 'Sand Snakes', the bastard daughters of Prince Oberyn. Tyene was apparently a Septa, but Arianne had confessed to Margaery recently that Tyene was as dangerous as any of her half-sisters.

"It is no trouble, Princess Arianne. Pray tell, is all well in Dorne?" Margaery asked, as she gestured for Arianne to take a seat close to her.

"Oh yes, quite well, simple matters of rebellion with my youngest brother, Trystane. He is quite refusing to allow his betrothed, Myrcella, to leave without his company. My foolish little brother believes that your House intends to harm or imprison her when she arrives in King's Landing. I assured my father that House Stark was honoring its alliance with Tyrion Lannister, and that he was still Lord of Casterly Rock."

"Does your father still wish to wed his son to Myrcella even though Robb had stripped her of her name and titles?" Princess Sansa asked curiously of Arianne, who merely shrugged and smiled.

"We do not see things the same in Dorne. Trystane is my father's youngest child, heir to no lands or titles. He is as free as my Uncle Oberyn to pursue his heart. But sadly he is young, and his heart speaks too loudly. Or perhaps it is something further down his body." Arianne japed, causing the Queen and her party to chuckle.

"How are you fairing today, my Queen. You are glowing from your pregnancy." Arianne smiled, having grown fairly fond of Margaery Stark since she had arrived in King's Landing. The two young women had at first engaged in healthy verbal jousts to assess each other's capability, and soon Margaery began to invite Arianne to spend more and more time with her, breaking an ancient resentment between Dornishmen and Reachmen with the friendship that blossomed between them.

"Oh as well as can be expected. I am always hungry, though I cannot stomach the food the Grand Maester and cooks insist I should eat. My feet and my back are always hurting, and I believe I will need to use the privy again soon." Margaery chuckled along with Arianne.

"I am sure once your babies are here and the King has returned, you will have a desire to have more heirs. It seems the way."

"If he's lucky." Margaery teased with a smirk that earned another laugh from those gathered. Grey-Wind, who was ever-present by Margaery's side perked up to cock his head at her with a slight whine.

"Oh don't you play the champion for him, you." Margaery said quietly to the wolf as she scratched his ears affectionately and sighed. She wondered yet again if Robb was looking at her behind those eyes as Bran had said he could.

Margaery's quiet day of rest did not last long however, as Grand Maester Rickard and her brother Willas, the Master of Laws, hurried back with grave news.

"Lord Gyles Rosby has passed, Your Grace. It is said by Maester Melwys of Rosby that a cough took him two nights ago."

"Oh no…" Margaery sighed, looking from Rickard to Willas, with a guess as to what he would say.

"The Lord Hand was meeting with Lord Gyles on the King's behalf to settle the matter of succession, but I believe Lord Jon never managed to reach a conclusion before he left. Six claims have already arrived, four by raven and two have arrived in the capital themselves."

"Lord Gyles had no children, but he did have a ward who has sealed the gates of Rosby from the other claimants. The castle is under a soft siege from a score of men from House Stokeworth under the command of Ser Balman Byrch." Rickard reported, causing Margaery to sigh and rub her eyes wearily before rising from her seat.

* * *

"Who is Ser Balman Byrch?" Margaery asked as the remaining members of the Small Council quickly flocked her in the council chambers. Princess Arianne joined them, having temporarily claimed the seat that King Robb had offered to her uncle Oberyn by Margaery's command. Only Willas, Davos, Rickard and Varys remained to her. Loras stood behind Margaery to both protect her and represent the Kingsguard whilst Ser Barristan was away with the King.

"Husband to Lady Falyse Stokeworth, my lady. She is heir to Lady Tanda. My birds sing that it is Lady Falyse who ordered her husband and the men to take Rosby for Stokeworth. Prematurely without leave from the Crown, I might add." Varys tittered as Margaery frowned.

"A claim has been put forth from Stokeworth for Rosby, my Queen. Lady Falyse, writes it however, in her mother's name. It reads: _On behalf of my mother the Lady Tanda of House Stokeworth, an aunt to Lord Gyles's second wife and a third cousin to the late Lord himself, we do this day lay this claim before the Iron Thr-."_

"That's enough. Even hearing her words makes me ill." Margaery said, causing Arianne to laugh.

"Loras, put together a troop of good men to take a message to Lady Tanda directly. The woman is ambitious, but she is not stupid. I doubt she knows what her daughter is up to. Command her to cease all activity in Rosby and recall her men. She shall also hold her daughter in Stokeworth until I have decided whether to punish her for instigating a hostile act in peacetime. After that, have the men ride to Rosby to ensure peace is restored"

"Of course. I'll send out thirty men from the army. That should be enough." Loras bowed his head.

"Who has the best claim? I shall make this decision now to settle the issue of Rosby once and for all."

"It is difficult to say, Your Grace. Of the six claims put forth-."

"Six? Seven Hells…it would almost be simpler to seize the lands of Rosby for the Iron Throne." Arianne said, causing everyone else in the room to look to her.

"That would set a dangerous precedent. Robb and I have already seized Harrenhal for House Stark. To do the same to Rosby will cause discontent amongst lords high and small. They might not think their lands safe from us, they might think us greedy and grasping and we will lose the loyalty that Robb won from the war. Better now for us to install a good, loyal lord to Rosby." Margaery said, with Arianne nodding amiably in agreement.

"Who has claimed the castle, Grand Maester?" Margaery sighed, turning her head back to the linen-robed man.

"Stokeworth, as we have mentioned. Lord Gyles's ward is a young knight named Ser Derryn Dargood-."

"The Dargoods are extinct aren't they? They fell at Duskdendale with the Darklyns and the Hollards, I thought." Willas said, cutting off Rickard who merely shrugged.

"I am told that Ser Derryn is the grandson of one of Lord Gyles's long dead younger sisters. The last surviving blood relation he has. The town and castle of Rosby itself seems to have long treated him as heir." Varys reported causing Margaery to nod and purse her lips thoughtfully.

"His blood-tie is strong. What is he like?"

"He is almost twenty-three, I am told. Though he has remained Lord Gyles's ward for many years past his maturity. He fought for the Lannisters initially, but turned to our side quickly. He led Rosby's forces to the North with the King and fought in the Iron Islands, where he received his knighthood. He is a good warrior, but I am told he is prone to visit the brothels. No other negative reports of him. The people of Rosby are fond of him."

"What of Rosby's bannermen? How many does he have? Or, well, _did_ he have?"

"House Rosby has four other lesser noble Houses sworn to them, Your Grace, as well as two knightly houses. They can raise a force of-."

"Its not the force that concerns me, it's whether they will accept this Derryn as their new Lord Rosby. The most important thing is to settle this tension in the Crownlands. Invite Ser Derryn to King's Landing and I will meet with him to deem if he is worthy." Margaery decided, rising from her chair before the others mimicked her.

"If there's nothing else, my lords…?"

"One small matter of an… _illicit_ nature, Your Grace. It is about the brothels of our city." Varys said in a tone that implied discomfort, though Margaery knew that there was little that made the Spider uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Margaery sighed, as she sank back into her seat.

"The majority of the brothels were owned by Littlefinger, the late Lord Petyr Baelish. And since our dear King Robb took his head in the North, I have just recently learned that the brothels have fallen into chaos. Internal power struggles over who will now own Littlefinger's flesh-peddling establishments have apparently resulted in a number of murders."

" _What?_ " Margaery demanded, her voice as loud and regal as any monarch's. "Who has died? And why have we not found out about this sooner? We've been in the capital for _months_."

"I had no eyes or ears where Baelish walked, my Queen. He was always sure to keep my spies away from him. I am told that it is his own men fighting amongst themselves. Hedge knights, whores, guardsmen. They all believe they had a claim to lay on the properties." Varys explained with a slight shrug.

"And how have these brothels been operating now?"

"They seem to know not to attract the attention of the Grey-Cloaks, but it is a bloodshed behind closed doors. By right…since Baelish was stripped of all lands and titles before he died without issue, all of his property now falls under the Crown's domain…"

"Oh Gods be good…" Margaery groaned letting her head fall into her hands.

"Your Grace…if I may…" Arianne began, with Margaery raising her head to look at the beautiful Princess of Dorne "With your recent investments, I know I am not the Master of Coin, but this would seem like a significant increase to the Iron Throne's economic assets. Brothels…they may not be a clean business, they may not be honorable, but they will always be around so long as men and women have lust. I counsel you to send men without banners or sigils to bring order to these brothels, and then appoint someone you trust to oversee them on the Crown's anonymous behalf. No-one but the Council and your chosen keeper need know that the Iron Throne owns these brothels."

"The King would not like this." Lord Davos said with a shake of his head.

"No. He wouldn't. But one cannot deny the logic the Princess presents." Rickard said somewhat reluctantly.

"Robb has had to do a lot that he doesn't like. He knows what reigning means, and it means that sometimes we must stick our hands in the mud. One of Robb's great desires is to bring the Iron Throne and Westeros into prosperity. The brothels will turnover a large amount of gold, more gold than even Rosby could have ever hoped to provide in several lifetimes. It is not what I want to do, and it certainly wouldn't be Robb's desire either…but I believe Princess Arianne has the right of it." Margaery sighed, rubbing her temple where a headache was about to set in.

"What man or woman could we possibly trust to oversee this?" Davos asked. For though he was not at all opposed to prostitution, he had a niggling sense that the King he now loyally served would not have approved of what was being done here.

"The one man who knows brothels better than even Littlefinger did; Lord Tyrion Lannister." Margaery said, sitting back in her chair to place a hand on her belly. "Lord Tyrion is not a man who cherishes his honor, and I believe he would relish this opportunity. Send word to Casterly Rock that I have a new task for him. In the meantime, I believe there is more value in sending the Grey Cloaks to bring back order. It will show all those in King's Landing's underworld that the Crown intends to maintain justice and peace, no matter what."

* * *

 _"Oh don't you play the champion for him, you."_ He felt incredibly happy looking up at Margaery, his tongue lolled out past his fangs as he blinked blissfully up at her. Until he was being wrenched upwards by an overwhelming force to sit up abruptly in his bunk aboard _The Howl_.

"I did it! I think I did it-…I don't know-…" Robb was pale and covered in a sheen of cold sweat, watched by Bran and Jon who had Ghost and Summer by their sides in the King's Cabin of the ship.

"You did it." Jojen Reed, who stood at the foot of Robb's bunk confirmed with a smile. "You were gone to us as Bran was. Even if it was just for fifteen seconds, Robb, your powers are getting stronger. To be able to warg from this distance is an _incredible_ feat."

"I saw her…" Robb breathed, still slightly delirious from the strain of having reached so far across the world to bond with Grey-Wind. Jon came forth to offer Robb a wooden cup of water that the Wolf King gratefully accepted "God, I miss her…I saw Sansa too…" Robb finished the water in a single gulp, shakily handing the cup back to Jon.

"Thank you. I needed-…I needed to do that." Robb said, looking from Jojen to Bran who both smiled at Robb.

"That's enough for today. We're pulling into Slaver's Bay soon…I need my wits about me." No sooner had Robb said that and begun to rub his eyes than when Smalljon Umber burst into the cabin with a Myrish far-eye in his hand.

"You're going to want to see this."

* * *

A single ship, barely more than a rowboat with sails, was anchored several dozens of leagues off the coast of Meereen. It was here to meet them instead of the large fleet, that Robb could clearly see was docked in the harbors of the brick-walled city behind the lone ship. It flew white sails, which signaled peace on the seas, but above the sails it flew a large Targaryen banner that flapped in the strong sea winds.

"What are your orders, Your Grace?" Smalljon asked as Robb lowered the bronze tube from his eye. The fleet was progressing ever closer towards Meereen, and Robb could feel the tension in the air, the tension in every one of his men aboard _The Howl_ who were expecting a ruse. Robb turned, every bit the Northern King to give his orders to the crew.

"Give signal for the rest of the fleet to anchor at once. _The Howl_ will progress forward a dozen more leagues, then we will stop. And we will wait for them to come to us." One of the crewmen trained in signals raised his flags at once, giving the order for an all-stop of the fleet. _The Howl_ had been so fast that it had almost sailed ahead of the rest of the ships, they had needed to remove one of the new sails to slow down and keep up with the first wave of long ships and war ships. As _The Howl_ progressed forward, the ships behind them began to slowly come to a halt. The Stark banners flew proudly in the wind across over a dozen leagues of sea from the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

Robb, Jon, Smalljon and Dacey stood on the bow of their ship, staring out at the Targaryen boat in silence. Smalljon still had the Myrish far-eye held up, searching for movement. He said nothing as the harsh Essos sun beat down upon them for over an hour. They didn't move, except to drink water, until finally Smalljon stepped forward to hold the far-eye tighter.

"They're moving…there's six of them…they're getting on a rowboat…" Smalljon lowered the far-eye to look at Robb who gave a humorless chuckle. As much as this journey to Daenerys Targaryen had been anticipated, he still knew that he was wading through deep danger on the word of his brother and Jojen Reed. Aye, he might have warged into Grey-Wind to see Margaery, but did not have the greensight as Bran or Jojen did. He could not see what they saw, he could only hear their words and judge for himself if they were right.

"I will wait in my cabin. Jon, you will join me. Dacey, Smalljon you'll escort this party to me and then you will stay."

"As you command." The trio chorused, bowing their heads as Robb turned on his heel to march down the deck of his ship for the King's Cabin with Jon on his tail.

* * *

Smalljon and Dacey threw down the rope ladder to the rowboat when it bumped against the hull of _The Howl._ The crew of the ship stood to strict attention with their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Smalljon had given a strict command for the sailors and soldiers to receive the party with respect, but even so they needed to be on alert. The first man to climb onto the deck was a Summer Islander with a sullen face and a shaved head, he nodded to Smalljon and Dacey before standing aside with his helm under his arm to wait for the rest of his party. Four more sullen-faced men armored as he was climbed up to stand as rigidly as he did, followed finally by a man with curly hair and a three-pronged beard that were both died a deep purple, in contrast to his companions he was dressed in loud colors and many silk fineries. He gave Dacey and Smalljon a grin, where they both saw a golden tooth. Smalljon however narrowed his eyes, and took a step forward to gaze at the purple-haired man strongly. Daario Naharis grinned toothily at the towering Smalljon Umber before giving him a little bow.

"Daario Naharis, pleased to meet you. I am sent here as envoy on behalf of Her Radiance, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains. These sour-faced lads behind me are the highest commanders of the Queen's Unsullied. I myself guard the Queen and sit on her Council, she has sent us here to show King Robb Stark her seriousness about meeting with him."

"If she was serious, she would be here herself." Dacey Mormont walked forward to stand beside Smalljon and fold her arms, narrowing her gaze as well to tilt her head at the man.

"Have we met?" Smalljon asked, taking a step closer to Daario as the Unsullied simultaneously placed their hands on their short swords. Daario raised his palm to stay them, before giving Smalljon a friendly smile in turn.

"I doubt it. I am a sellsword who has never been further west that Braavos. Are _you_ King Robb?" Daario asked Smalljon, causing Dacey to snort in spite of herself. Smalljon shot her a glare as she blushed slightly, before turning his gaze back to Daario to shake his head.

"No. I am Smalljon Umber, King Robb's Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing. This is Lady Dacey Mormont, Field General of the Royal Army."

"Mormont, aye? No relation to Jorah Mormont by any chance?" Daario asked, with Dacey's brow instantly furrowing at the mention of her cousin. She clenched her jaw before standing straighter to nod once.

"He is my kin. But we are not here to talk of exiles. King Robb will see you in his cabin." Dacey said in a strong tone, before turning to walk down the deck towards the King's Cabin with her hand clutching the hilt of her sword.

"Very good. I'll come alone, my boys here will stand guard outside if it please you." Daario grinned to Smalljon who merely raised an eyebrow at the odd statement, before following after him. Robb did not of course mean to do this Daario Naharis any harm, but even still a wise man would keep guards about him when he is amongst an unknown army. Dacey went into the cabin first to announce him, and with Smalljon behind him, neither could see that Daario Naharis was very, _very_ nervous. His palms were sweating, and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest. For no-one really knew the risks this man had taken to get where he was, the risk he was about to take when he walked into that cabin. The purple-haired man swallowed away a lump in his throat.

"Your Grace. I bring before you Daario Naharis, envoy of Queen Daenerys Targaryen." Daario took a breath before walking in to the chambers to see his nephews had risen from behind the great oaken desk to greet him with respect. Ned had always taught them well. Daario bowed, before the boys could get a better look at him. He waited until he heard Smalljon Umber shut the door behind him before he rose. Simultaneously Robb and Jon both narrowed their eyes as they looked at him, before exchanging a glance with one another. Jon seemed to realize what was happening first, turning back slowly to glare at Daario Naharis.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" Jon had never been one to curse, but his words now were as sharp as the sword he kept by his side. Dacey and Smalljon both looked greatly confused as Robb too adopted a look of anger.

"Dacey. Smalljon. Leave us for a moment. And have the lads start singing…" Robb commanded of his best friends, contradicting his earlier orders. But Dacey and Smalljon did not question Robb, for they knew better than to do so in such a tense situation. They simply walked out together to leave the three men alone. It wasn't until they heard the ship's crew engage in a lively song that Robb spoke up.

"Is that a bloody wig? _A golden tooth_? What in the Seven Hells, _Uncle Benjen_! We thought you were dead! Killed by the Walkers! Where were you when I called my banners? Sailing to the east to dye your hair? _What is going on?_ "

"You both need to calm down. I have been by Daenerys Targaryen's side for months. Months. And I've done it all for Westeros. For the Watch. I knew the Others were coming. When I went out on that ranging, Jon, I didn't know I wouldn't come back. I-…I met… _the Children_." Benjen said, glancing up to expect a reaction of either disbelief or awe from his nephews who simply gave him stoic looks.

" _The_ Children? Of the Forest?" Benjen asked with a confused furrow of his brows.

"Bran met the Children as well. He was with them for months, and he's here now. Did you meet him too?"

"What? No. Bran is here? What the hell are you boys thinking? He's a cripple boy!"

"Bran being on this ship is far from the most pressing matter at hand! Tell us what you're doing." Jon snapped, causing both Robb and Benjen to look temporarily taken aback. "I thought you were dead. I grieved. I mourned. I want to know why you think it's ok for all of us to believe that we lost you and father in the same time."

"Ned wasn't your father, Jon…" Benjen sighed, thinking once again that he was divulging unknown information to his nephews. Only to have them gaze at him unflinchingly.

"We know that Aunt Lyanna is Jon's mother. We know my father lied to protect him from Robert Baratheon. We also know that he is Prince Rhaegar's son. But he is still my brother, and father still raised him as a son."

"How in the Seven Hells do you both know so much?" Benjen demanded.

"Lord Howland told Robb. He was with Lord Stark at the Tower of Joy when my mother died." Jon said tonelessly, with Benjen chewing his lip slightly before he nodded with a sigh.

"I'm sorry we never told you. I always told Ned that you should know…but he made a promise to Lyanna. She wanted you safe, Jon. She wanted you in Winterfell." Benjen said sadly, causing Jon to clench his jaw as he felt a wave of emotion wash over him.

"What happened with the Children?" Robb asked again after a moment.

"They came to find me when I made camp. I hadn't even reached Craster's Keep yet, but they found me. I thought they were the Others, but they stayed my hand with some magic that I do not know. They showed me a vision of the Long Night, and they convinced me that my vows to the Watch needed to be more than waiting to die at Castle Black. Westeros needed dragons, Daenerys Targaryen was foreseen to hatch three. _I am the shield that guards the realms of men_. I needed to be elsewhere to protect Westeros. I was one man, the Lord Commander would never have let me leave though. So I had to go without saying a word. I'm sorry for that." Benjen said, looking from Robb to Jon before sighing and running a hand through his hair.

"I went to Tyrosh first, I set myself up there as a sellsword to create enough of a backstory before I met the Queen. These Essosi…they were easy to fool once I died my hair and put these colored lenses in my eyes. No-one knew Benjen Stark here, but still I dressed and acted like someone else. I became someone else." Benjen dropped his usual Northern tones to readopt his Tyroshi accent "I became Daario Naharis, sellsword to the Second Sons."

"Your plan…seems that it had little actual planning to it, Uncle. You've been gone for over a year, and yet you are no closer to coming to Westeros with Daenerys Targaryen. We had to come here." Jon pointed out as he folded his arms.

"I admit…that I may have been a bit hasty in setting off, but here I am. An advisor to the Dragon Queen who convinced her to meet with you rather than prepare Meereen for war." Benjen pointed out as he took a seat on the chair before Robb's desk.

"She will probably still call for war once she finds out you've been lying to her and that you are a Stark of Winterfell." Robb pointed out as he too took his seat across from Benjen.

"She cannot know. Not until we are out of Meereen. You both will have to pretend that you do not know me. Bran too, it seems."

"And Tyrion Lannister. He's here. He's met you." Jon sighed, causing Benjen to look taken aback.

"Lannister? What in the blue bloody blazes is he doing here?"

"He's a stowaway. But one who might prove his worth with his silver tongue should your new Queen turn us away."

"I didn't know what was going to happen when I left, boys. When I found out Ned had passed-…I-…I grieve my brothers and my sister every day, boys. But thank all the Gods that you have preserved our dynasty and taken it to a new place. A place not your father, nor mine could have dreamed of. You're the King of all Westeros now, Robb. And Gods be good, I remember when your mother and father brought you boys back to Winterfell. I was only a boy myself then, barely older than Bran is now. I never expected that we would be here, lads. Not in this situation that we face." Benjen sighed, with his two nephews exchanging another glance.

"It is good to see you alive, Uncle. Tell us what word you have of Daenerys Targaryen." Robb finally said, causing Benjen to look up with a small smile.

"She's a good young lady. I won't deny that I have lusted after her, she is beautiful and she is strong. However she's inexperienced in ruling, and her intentions, whilst pure, have resulted in disaster across Slaver's Bay. She cannot control her dragons, and the city itself is about to erupt in war. If I was not your Uncle, I would tell you none of this. But you must succeed in getting her out of Slaver's Bay."

"Bran has a plan to help her control her dragons, and with Jon's birth as her nephew, we hope to convince her that Westeros is safe for her."

"She will not easily believe this tale, lads…"

"As she rightly shouldn't. But we have been honest with her from the start, as we will continue to be. Barring your true identity now, it seems." Jon said, causing Benjen to purse his lips.

"She sent me here to say that she will receive you, and will allow you to bring a force of men into the city to make you comfortable. She however asks that the majority of your fleet remains anchored here until you have reached an accord."

"Reasonable…" Robb murmured, glancing up to Jon who stood by his shoulder.

"Aye. What else?"

"What else? Treat her with kindness and respect. Call her Queen, and avoid all possible discussion about the Iron Throne. I have told her of Robert's Rebellion and of what her brother did to Lyanna, but she will have more questions for you both. Answer them honestly." Benjen advised, rising from his chair to adjust his silks and fineries.

"Now," his Tyroshi accent returned "Who am I?"

"Daario Naharis." Robb said with a sigh and an eye roll before he too rose from his seat.

"My ship will follow yours into the harbor. I need to speak with Bran and Tyrion Lannister before we go in, lest they give away your secret." Robb said in bemusement.

"It is not a joke. If she finds out I lied to her now…all hope of her allying with us is lost. She will not take betrayal kindly."

 _The Howl_ waited until Daario's small ship returned to dock before it quickly pulled up anchor to do the same. A signal had been sent to the rest of the fleet to hold their positions, with a rowboat of men sent from _The Howl_ back to give a detailed report to the other Captains on what was occurring. Whilst they had sailed from Westeros to Essos in linens and leathers, all those aboard Robb's flagship were armored in chainmail and plate when they docked in Meereen's harbor. Robb himself wore the black steel armor embossed with a crowned direwolf's head that House Tyrell had gifted to him at the start of their alliance. He wore his Winter Crown, and looked as much as the legends and songs about him had described.

A litter and a group of horses were waiting to take them up to the Great Pyramid where the Mother of Dragons was said to be waiting for them. This was the first time that almost all of them had been to a different nation, and Meereen was incredibly strange to the Westerosi. It was hotter than any of them could have anticipated, with many sweating the moment they stepped on land. The people were strange and stared at them as they rode past with wide eyes. Robb, Jon, Dacey and Ser Barristan took the horses along with a number of Robb's guardsmen, while Jojen, Bran and Tyrion took the litter behind them. The remaining Stark soldiers marched behind them. Robb had left Smalljon Umber to command _The Howl_ along with its sailors and sixty soldiers.

Robb panted slightly, removing his glove to wipe a hand across his sweating forehead as they got closer and closer to the Great Pyramid. Daario Naharis and a strong force of Unsullied escorted them through the streets, their strict discipline and unified marching causing the Westerosi to exchange impressed glances.

"They are said to be greatest soldiers in all the Known World." Dacey said.

"The greatest slave soldiers." Ser Barristan noted with a touch of disapproval in his tone.

"She's freed them from slavery, as she has all these people here." Robb pointed out, glancing at the many freedmen that bordered the streets and stared at his party with amazement, and in some instances, fear.

"She did that in Astapor, but Astapor is now being torn apart by war. Yunkai as well." Jon said somberly, as he also looked at the former slaves on the streets.

"Best not to mention that if we're trying to win her to our side…" Robb muttered.

"If she leaves with us….all these people, what will happen to them?" Dacey asked quietly, causing the group to fall into a contemplative silence.

* * *

Daenerys shuffled upon the ebony throne in her audience hall of the Great Pyramid. Ser Jorah, Brown Ben, her bloodriders and several Unsullied stood guard around the room as they waited. Missandei stood beside her faithfully with her hands clasped before her. They had received word only a short while ago that Robb Stark had docked his ship and was riding up to meet her. She had done her best to look like the fierce, beautiful Mother of Dragons and had quite succeeded in accomplishing that with a pristine ivory gown that was trimmed with a stunning sterling silver choker necklace that took the shape of a dragon. It also served as a small piece of armor, and made her look quite intimidating. She did not know how this meeting would go, but she knew that she needed to maintain a powerful hand and presence. Though she had not initially felt nervous about Robb Stark's arrival, she was feeling quite nervous now that it had actually happened. Despite what Daario had told her, Viserys had always said that the Starks killed their family. The little girl who had grown up an exile could not so easily forget that memory.

She was so lost in thought that she almost jumped off her seat when she heard the grand doors outside the audience hall's waiting chamber open and a barrage of voices began to hum. She straightened her posture, staring straight ahead with a purple gaze as the double doors opened and Daario walked in leading a group of very strange looking people. She assumed that Robb Stark was the handsome young man with black armor and a crown of pointed swords on his head. She was expecting someone more brutish, someone uglier and more like monsters she had imagined the Starks would be as a girl. Beside him was a… _gorgeous_ young man in black armor as well, though where Robb Stark had an embossed direwolf on his breast plate, this man's armor was quite plain. The only splash of color on him was a golden badge in the shape of a hand that fastened his cloak into place. Daenerys almost couldn't take her eyes off this particular man, but had to take the rest of them in. There was an older man with hair as white as the enameled armor he wore, a beautiful woman with simmering eyes, a tall slender boy with green eyes, a dwarf and finally a young lad in an odd chair on wheels. Behind them were a number of soldiers in brown boiled leather or grey steel plates that were marked with a crowned direwolf. The Stark sigil, she remembered from one of her books as a child. Daenerys did not know what to say, and was quite glad that these situations required heralds.

Robb Stark felt much the same as he looked up at the breathtaking Daenerys Targaryen. His uncle had been right when he said she was beautiful, but seeing her only made Robb think of his own beautiful Queen so far away from him. He needed to win Daenerys to his side as quickly as he could. He smiled as kindly as he could up at her, holding her violet gaze with his own vivid blue. Jon Stark felt his mouth go dry looking up at Daenerys. Looking at her now, surrounded by strangers in a foreign land, he felt an immense sympathy for her. She had no family, whilst he still had the Starks. In that moment he became determined to forge a bond with her.

Dacey Mormont glared up at her cousin Jorah, who shifted uncomfortably where he stood. The moment Dacey entered the audience hall, Jorah had become as tense as a coiled viper. He had not anticipated any member of his House to be amongst Robb Stark's party, for in his day he had never been particularly close to Ned Stark. It seemed things were incredibly different in the North now. Jorah knew that Dacey resented him for leaving, after all he had treated her like a younger sister and a daughter. She in turn had idolized her great cousin Jorah until he brought ruin to House Mormont. His crime of slavery had broken her belief in him, and his fleeing of Bear Island had led her to believe him a craven. Seeing him by Daenerys Targaryen's side only caused her a silent, cold fury.

"You stand before Queen Daenerys of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons." Missandei stepped forward to announce after a long moment of silent tension in the audience hall.

"Queen Daenerys, comes before you Robb of the House Stark, First of His Name, King of the First Men, the Andals and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros." Jon stepped forward to announce Robb, before the Young Wolf stepped forward himself.

"Queen Daenerys, thank you for meeting with me. I know that it cannot have been easy to hear that a foreign navy was sailing towards you and accept that they were coming peacefully." Robb's tone was respectful but strong as he gazed up at Daenerys.

"No, it wasn't. I hope my faith is not misplaced, King Robb." Daenerys said with equal respect.

"I assure you it is not. There is much I must tell you, but first I would introduce my companions, if it please. For without some of them, I would not be here at all. Stands beside is Jon Stark, my Hand of the King and Warden of the North." Robb placed a hand on Jon's armored shoulder.

"Your Grace." Jon greeted with a bow of his head, before looking back up to Daenerys who held his gaze for a long moment before turning to Ser Barristan whom Robb introduced next. "This is Ser Barristan Selmy, you may know him as Ser Barristan the Bold. He is Lord Commander of my Kingsguard."

"Queen Daenerys. I once served your father, it is my shame that I was not by his side when he fell." Barristan bowed his head as well, with Daenerys nodding to the man. She had heard that Barristan the Bold was the greatest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms, and that he was also Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard, and yet here he was serving the man who had removed the Baratheons from power. She wondered at that…

"Lady Dacey Mormont, my close friend and Field General of my Royal Army." Daenerys turned curiously from Dacey to Jorah, who looked uncomfortably to his feet.

"Are you-…?" Daenerys began to ask, glancing from Ser Jorah to Dacey.

"Yes, Your Grace. I was his cousin."

"Was?" Dany asked curiously, as the Westeros party tensed slightly. Dacey seemed to regret her words, and instead swallowed her resentment to put on a faux smile.

"A slip of the tongue. I have not seen Jorah in many, many years." Dacey said with a respectful smile to Dany, who grew even more confused, though did not show it.

"This is Jojen Reed, son of my bannerman Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. It is because of him, and my brother here, Brandon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell that we made this journey to you." Robb explained to Dany who tilted her head slightly.

"Queen Daenerys." Jojen and Bran chorused as they bowed their heads.

"I am sorry I cannot rise. My legs are no longer mine to use."

"Please do not be sorry, Brandon. But I must ask why would you sail so far from home?"

"Because I had to meet you, Your Grace. You are Westeros's best hope to survive the Long Night." Bran said, rolling his chair forward slightly to look up at Daenerys, who in turn could no longer hide her confusion as she turned from Bran to Robb with a furrowed brow.

"I will explain as soon as we take council, if it please you." Robb stated with a smile.

"And who is the last member of your party?" Daenerys asked the one question Robb hoped she wouldn't. For he knew that having a Lannister with him was incredibly dangerous. The Lannisters had killed her family after all. Robb clenched his jaw subtly for a moment before glancing to Tyrion, thinking that the dwarf had better prove his worth soon.

"This is my Master of Coin, the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. Tyrion Lannister." Robb said, causing Dany to go rigid.

"Lannister." She said after a moment, her tone as sharp as Valyrian steel.

"I am not my family, Your Grace. But I am sorry what they did to yours. I am the son of Tywin, but I have kept my position by the grace of the good King Robb. My father languishes in a cell in Dorne for what he commanded done to King's Landing at the Young Wolf's order. The West fell to the King's army."

"Am I to be impressed that after you fought my family, you fought yourselves?" she asked coolly.

"Queen Daenerys. I was a baby when the Rebellion was over. As were you and most of us here. Tyrion was only eight, hidden in Casterly Rock. Our names are against us, I grant you. But the Rebellion-." Robb began only for Daenerys to cut over him.

"I know what started Robert's Rebellion. I know that my brother kidnapped your aunt and that-."

"My mother." Jon interrupted, with everyone's eyes flicking towards him at once.

"Your-… _what_?" Daenerys asked in shock. She was told that Lyanna Stark had died in the Tower of Joy. That she was a maiden promised to Robert Baratheon. How could this Jon Stark be her son?

Unless…no…it couldn't be…

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: The Dragon Queen and the Wolf King meeting at last! Fear not, I'll be uploading the rest of their discussion ASAP._**

 ** _There has long been a theory that Daario Naharis is Benjen Stark in disguise, and though I did not initially believe it. I saw it as the best opportunity to have someone who understands Westeros and wants Dany to join Robb by her side. Some keen readers will have spotted in the chapters leading up to this meeting that I have dropped subtle clues hinting to Daario being Benjen, such as a flash of his grey eyes and his in-depth knowledge of the Rebellion._**

 ** _Please do review! Love you guys xoxo_**


	24. Chapter 24 - Back and Forth

A bird cawed outside on the terrace, but even still it was the only sound in an incredibly silent room. They had moved from the domineering audience hall of the Great Pyramid of Meereen to a smaller, more comfortable set of chambers that looked out over the ancient city and the sea, where Robb's fleet was seen anchored in the distance. Besides the fines draperies and ornate sconces on the stone walls, the only other furnishings in the room were a large rectangular stone table and several stools. Daenerys Targaryen sat on one side of the table with Daario Naharis, Grey-Worm, Missandei and Ser Jorah Mormont seated beside her.

Robb Stark sat directly across from her with his brother Bran and Jojen Reed to his left, Jon Stark, Tyrion Lannister and Dacey Mormont sat to his right. Ser Barristan Selmy stood vigilantly behind Robb with his white plate helm under his arm. The noble Lord Commander of the Kingsguard refused to allow any harm come to the one monarch he truly enjoyed protecting after all these years of service. Ghost and Summer sat quietly beside their masters, barely making a sound or a movement.

Daenerys Targaryen had a single, manicured hand on the tabletop that was gently rapping its fingers. Robb, not usually one for games, was growing weary of this extended awkward silence and made to clear his throat before Daenerys spoke.

"Why should I believe you?" her question was directed at Jon, with his companions turning their heads as one to see him hold Daenerys's gaze respectfully.

"I have no reason to lie to you." Jon said in his characteristic humble Northern tones that did nothing to appease Daenerys's doubt.

"You have _every_ reason to lie to her." Ser Jorah responded before anyone else could say anything, his barked response only causing the tension in the room to thicken.

"And what reasons would those be?" Tyrion Lannister, eager to prove his worth spoke up "To kill her and secure the throne? Why? His throne is already secure. For the first time in over twenty years Westeros is united under a single banner, a single King. Him." Tyrion pointed a stubby finger in Robb's direction as he addressed Jorah Mormont, before turning to Daenerys Targaryen.

"What exactly did he have to gain by sailing clear across the Known World after so recently securing his throne? Bringing back the fabled exile to execute her before the realm? If you had spent more than three days in Westeros over the past eight moons, you would know that is far from King Robb's way."

"Maybe you have some Lords flying the direwolf over their castles, but the common people still support the Targaryens." Jorah said, only for Tyrion to tilt his head condescendingly.

"Let's be generous and assume that's true. She has the support of the common people here in Slaver's Bay, how has that turned out for all of you? Astapor, Yunkai. Even outside your walls I could see disgruntlement. Your cause was noble, Queen Daenerys. But a hand that gives must also be firm. The common people in Westeros may have supported the Targaryens before the War of the Five Kings, but that is the case no longer. They are more cared for now than they have ever been since Aegon the Unlikely, but they are now also governed by a strong monarchy. I mean you no offence, Your Grace. But we are meeting today to discuss the fate of the world. _The cold winds are rising and the dead rise with it_. Do you know from whom I heard those very words?" The Stark party remained silent, though Robb and Jon were both individually thinking that the Lord of Casterly Rock had better have a point with his monologue.

"Your own father, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont sent that letter to King's Landing when I was serving as Hand of the King to my wretched nephew Joffrey. Did you know your father to ever lie?"

"Why should I believe anything you say, Imp? Why should the Queen?" growled Ser Jorah across the table.

"Because I served Lord Commander Mormont." Jon said, looking up with fire in his grey eyes that caused Daenerys to raise her brow for a moment.

"How?" Jorah asked curiously.

"I was his steward. I took his letters, I attended him at his meetings and I saved him from a wight. I almost died and so did he, but I managed to throw a lantern at the body and it caught afire." Jon took off his glove to show them the burn scars left from the lantern he had thrown. They were faded, but distinguishable amongst his callouses. "As a reward, the Lord Commander bestowed upon me his sword; Longclaw." Jon picked up his sword belt from where it was lying by his feet to place it upon the table as evidence to his claim.

"By Gods! What did you do to it?!" Jorah demanded, rising from his seat in fury to see that the bear's head pommel that had once adorned Longclaw was now replaced with a white direwolf's head. Ghost growled, baring his fangs at Jorah whilst Jon remained seated, looking up at the exiled knight calmly before responding.

"The Lord Commander had it changed for me."

"It is true. After you fled Bear Island, my mother sent the sword back to Uncle Jeor. He wrote to us when he gave it to Jon, he told us that the sword _finally_ belonged to someone who was worthy of it." Dacey's tone was icy, and it stung Jorah who sank slowly bank into his seat slightly abashed. Daenerys turned to look from Jorah back to Jon with a clear frown of annoyance.

"None of that proves that you are Rhaegar's son. And your Lannister here has yet to explain to me why I shouldn't claim what is mine by right."

"The Iron Throne?" Robb asked before anyone else could say anything. The Stark party fell silent, for they all could see that their Wolf King had been stirred through this tension. His vivid blue eyes were piercing as they held Daenerys's gaze for a long moment.

"It is mine by right." Daenerys did not back down, her own violet gaze came alive as she faced down Robb Stark across the table.

"Because your father, a man who burned people for amusement and killed my uncle and grandfather, was King once?"

"My family _built_ Westeros. The Targaryens shaped the Seven Kingdoms to be what they are today."

"Perhaps that might be true, but how would you even know? You have never spent a single day of your adult life in Westeros. Do you remember what it smells like? What the temperatures are? Do you remember the names of the Houses across the Seven Kingdoms?" Robb asked, causing Daenerys's features to harden. "I never wanted the Iron Throne. I wanted to free my father from that ill-born bastard, Joffrey Baratheon. He was executed anyway, and I was left no choice. I did not seek power then, I sought safety for my people. When Stannis Baratheon killed his own brother that ended any claim the Baratheons had to the Crown. It was by chance, simple chance, that I was with Renly Baratheon when he died. I was the best option to over one-hundred-thousand men. I did not conquer with fire and blood. I promised Westeros justice, I delivered. Westeros was rotting, corrupt and on the verge of annihilation, and since I have become King-."

"Westeros has thrived." Tyrion finished for Robb.

"Your own family took up arms against him. You fought against him. What are you doing by his side now?" Daenerys demanded of Tyrion, who chewed his lip slightly before looking to Jorah, Missandei and Grey-Worm.

"What are they doing by yours?" Tyrion countered, gesturing to her counselors.

"I have given them cause." The Dragon Queen responded tersely, only for Tyrion to smile and nod.

"They believe in you. I believe in Robb Stark. I admit when he first took the Iron Throne, I did not think he would last very long. He is brutish in his own Northern sort of way, sometimes as stubborn as his own father was, I thought him headstrong, young and foolhardy. But he is perhaps the first man I have met in Westeros who is a ruler worthy of the name, and I spent most of my life in King's Landing. Many things can be said about the Starks, but their honor and their inherent goodness cannot be denied by any man, woman or child in the Seven Kingdoms." Tyrion turned his head from Robb back to Daenerys.

"For the love I bore my family, I never revealed their secret. But what love did I gain from the Lannisters in turn? An assassination attempt on my life by their own sad excuse for a Kingsguard knight." Tyrion gestured to his scarred face, where he saw Daenerys now trace her gaze along his gruesome gift from Joffrey and Cersei.

"King Robb could have let me die, after all I was a Lannister, the family who had executed his kin and threatened to destroy him and all he loved. But he sent his own Maesters to attend to me." Tyrion glanced at Robb for a moment, his lips curling in a small smile of gratitude "House Lannister was the biggest threat to his ascension, and instead of destroying us root and stem as my own father, and even yours would have done…he raised me up. He offered the West peace, because there is a bigger threat to the North." Daenerys was chewing her bottom lip as she and Robb Stark stared each other down across the table for several long moments.

"Your Grace…I know that you began the path you're on now with a desire to reclaim what was yours," Brandon Stark spoke up, breaking the tension as Dany's eyes flicked curiously to the boy. "You were told since you were a baby that Westeros had been taken from your family, and you lived as an exile dreaming of this fabled place. But what you have accomplished here in Essos…you cannot think of it as a stepping-stone to something greater. Westeros may have needed someone like you a few years ago, someone strong, good and compassionate, but Slaver's Bay and Essos needed the same. Robb may have brought peace to the Seven Kingdoms, but you are bringing _freedom_ to _millions_ here."

"I fought so that no child born into Slaver's Bay would ever know what it meant to be bought or sold. I will continue that fight here and beyond. But this is not my home." Daenerys addressed Bran directly, giving him a rare respect that the young Lord of Winterfell did not even receive in Westeros. For Dany knew what it was like to be young and overlooked, it was not until she had dragons and an army at her back that people began to listen to her.

"If returning to Westeros is what you wish, Queen Daenerys, then I extend to you the invitation, along with a decree of House Targaryen restored to lordly status with Dragonstone as your seat." Robb said, causing Jon, Dacey and Tyrion to look sharply in his direction. "Dragonstone was your family's ancestral castle, just as Winterfell is mine. I would not rest until it was back in my name. I will return Dragonstone to you as a sign of good faith." Daenerys looked slightly taken aback by the offer, and did not have much time to think before Jorah was speaking again.

"And in what condition is the castle? You'd give her a spit of rock, name her a 'Lady' and call it peace?"

"Dragonstone is in the same condition that it has always been in. Stannis Baratheon is exiled to the Wall, and a nominal garrison holds it for me as we mine dragonglass for the Long Night. The coffers and Targaryen relics, I am told, are still in place." Robb said irritably, growing tired of Jorah Mormont's interruptions. It seemed so too was the Dragon Queen, who rose from her seat to speak.

"I would speak with the three Starks alone. Ser Jorah, Daario, please show the rest of King Robb's party to their guest chambers."

"Your Grace-."

"Now." Daenerys said pointedly, turning her head to give Jorah a blistering glare that silenced him at once.

"Your Grace…this seems a little unorthodox." Jon said uncertainly as he exchanged glances with the others.

"I don't believe any part of this situation _is_ orthodox, Jon Stark. _Grey-Worm. Stand guard outside with four of your men."_ Daenerys commanded to her Unsullied Commander in Valyrian, causing the Westerosi to exchange nervous glances. Tyrion Lannister, however, vaguely understood what she said as he, Dacey Mormont and Jojen Reed were led out of the room.

"My King, I swore that I would be by your side throughout this journey." Ser Barristan stated, causing Robb to suppress a grateful smile.

"I believe that I shall be alright for the moment, Ser Barristan. If it please you, stand vigil outside the door."

"Your Grace." Ser Barristan bowed his head reluctantly before retreating to stand with Grey-Worm and his Unsullied.

"Wine?" Daenerys asked of the three Stark men who remained, she did not wait for them to answer as she filled four golden cups with a purplish liquid that was of a foreign flavor to the Starks.

"I take it wine is different in Westeros." Dany said with a slight smile of bemusement. She remained standing at the head of the table, her back to the large window overlooking the city.

"Much." Robb commented, before taking another sip "It is quite good though."

"Dragonstone, I am told, is an important naval fortress for the Iron Throne. Why would you so willingly part with it?" Daenerys asked curiously.

"I don't want war. I cannot be plainer about this. Not with you, nor with anyone else in Westeros again. The Others are coming, it is life against death, and we should not be bleeding ourselves. It only makes them stronger."

"And I'm supposed to believe this myth about ice creatures of death and destruction?"

"Dragons were a myth until you walked into a fire and hatched three. I've seen the Walkers, with my own eyes. I saw them take an abandoned baby in the forest…and Gods alone know what they did to the boy. I was captured by a wildling before I could help." Jon explained, causing Daenerys's lips to part in slight horror for a moment.

"My wife…my own Queen is in Westeros ruling as Regent, and she is perhaps weeks away from giving birth to my twins. I do not at all wish to be away from her, but I had to come…because we need you, Daenerys Targaryen. You are the fire against this ice."

"How do you know? What makes you so sure that I am your savior?" Daenerys asked, feeling an impossible burden being lifted onto her shoulders by these men whom only minutes ago she was considering having thrown into the dungeons. Jon and Robb both fell silent to look at Bran who himself had a thoughtful expression on his features before he met Daenerys's gaze. She saw then that though the young man's eyes were a deep blue like Robb's, they had a grey tint to them that made his gaze piercing rather than vivid, much like Jon.

"Magic was almost gone from this world." He began "All that was left was blood magic performed by a few across the Known World. Then I fell from a tower and you walked into a fire and the powers returned. Magic is a balance, you see. There are in fact two types of magic; light and dark. Blood magic falls into a vein of dark sorcery, the powers of the Old Gods that I control fall into the light. Your dragons…most interestingly, dance in between both. They can be born from the darkness, but controlled by the light."

"You're magical?" she asked, only for Bran to smile slightly.

"I suppose so. And in the same regard so are you, Queen Daenerys. I have the blood of the Children of the Forest, which gives me the powers of warging and greensight. Warging means…that I can control animals, and sometimes even humans for short spells. My greensight is…a bit harder to explain. It allows me glimpses to see things happening, that have happened or will happen. It is a temperamental power at best, but…I saw you. I saw you and my brothers…I saw you fighting against the Long Night, and I saw us win. But I also saw us fight without you, without your dragons…and Westeros fell. Even if you choose to send us on our way, the Others will make their way here soon. The Long Night comes for us all, my Queen." Bran's words caused Daenerys to shiver slightly, before the skepticism returned to her. She had seen visions herself, dark and twisted visions in the House of the Undying and those had truly affected her. But skinchanging? Control of animals? She could not control her dragons…how could this young man claim to do the opposite?

"I'm sorry Brandon, but that sounds quite far-fetched."

"We thought you might say that…which is why we asked your leave to have our wolves with us." Bran said, rolling himself slightly away from the stone table. He had outfitted his wheelchair with a strap to keep his body upright whilst he was in Summer, for more than once had he slumped out of his seat. He secured the strap, watched curiously by Daenerys who glanced from Robb to Jon who remained silent.

"I ask that you not scream, lest your guards think we are hurting you, but what you are about to see could be shocking." Bran said to Dany with a reassuring smile, before tilting his head back to have his eyes roll up. Summer instantly stood, his own eyes turning white for a moment, before the wolf adopted a different posture. Daenerys was speechless, watching as the direwolf circled Bran's motionless body before walking around the length of the table to sit before Daenerys.

"That's-…Is he-…?" Daenerys breathed, looking up from Summer to Robb and Jon who both nodded. Summer raised a giant paw to hold it in the air, and Dany could only smile as she reached her hand forward to take it. She laughed as Summer licked her palm, before trotting back over to Bran who sat upright with a deep gasp of air.

"Magic." Bran said with a simple smile.

* * *

"Gods, Bran really won her over didn't he?" Robb asked as he sank to sit on one of the two large beds in the chambers he was sharing with Jon.

"Tell me about it. She was so excited about the warging, she forgot about my parents for the night." Jon said in a tone of slight amusement as he struggled to remove his armor without the help of his squire.

"Don't expect that to last. I expect you shall have another round of interrogations tomorrow about it." Robb sighed, as he wearily laid his head down on the pillow. "Everything smells so odd here. Musty, almost…"

"You're just not used to being away from home." Jon grunted as he tried to yank his gauntlet off with little success. "I swear, if it wasn't for the war and Margaery, you'd have never left Winterfell." Jon sat on the bed to place his boots on either side of his gauntlet and began to heave.

"How in the Seven Hells did you survive at the Wall?" Robb asked in amusement, as he sat up to watch his Hand's efforts.

"We didn't have armor that fit so well at the Wall, your royal shit. Stop dreaming about Margaery and help me, Gods be good…" Jon cursed until a laughing Robb came over to assist his brother.

"Dragonstone. What were you thinking?" Jon asked after a moment.

"It is not as foolish as you and the others believe. We can all see that she is slowly starting to come around to leaving with us, and once she's in Westeros, I hope she will see that Margaery and I are doing a good job of ruling."

"We're cleaning up that's for sure. She looks like she could use a hand with it here…the freedmen are everywhere, and rather than putting their old skills to use, they're flocking around her with their hands out." Jon muttered.

"And she continues to give."

"She was never trained in ruling. Father-I mean…Ned-."

"Call him father, Jon. He raised you as such." Robb urged of Jon, who smiled slightly before continuing.

"Father trained us all. He made sure we understood the hard decisions. I don't think she does. What Lannister said in there is true, _the hand that gives must also be firm_." Jon said, earning a mild grumble of agreement from Robb.

* * *

Daenerys knew that she was acting foolish. It was against logic to be doing this, if any of her councilors knew what she was doing, they would have called her mad. She wrung her hands nervously as she walked down the corridor flanked by two silent Unsullied soldiers. She had not even trusted that Grey-Worm would keep this secret, and so had asked for two of the more quiet men in her guard. She could see that the Stark soldiers were on guard outside the various guest chambers, Robb Stark did his best to ensure that his companions were well-protected. She had to admire that slightly.

Dany stopped outside a specific door, gazing at the wood for a moment before turning her gaze to one of the guards in brown boiled leather armor.

"I wish to speak to your Lord Brandon Stark. Announce me." She requested, earning an instant nod from the guard who vanished into the chambers. She knew it was foolish, but what Brandon had shown her that night had kept her awake. The young man had control over his direwolf in a way she could only dream to control her dragons. It was too enticing to not ask more, to not learn more.

Bran was in a quiet meditative state alongside Jojen Reed, his roommate, when the guard entered to announce Queen Daenerys. Jojen and Bran both looked surprised.

"I didn't see this…" Jojen muttered, causing Bran to shoot him a glare.

"There's a lot we haven't seen, Jojen. We convinced them to come here-."

"Bran, the Voice told us that our visions were never set in stone. They were a result of the current circumstances around the Known World. We didn't know about Tyrion Lannister or Quentyn Martell, but we still see her joining us."

"Yes, but I can also see how she won't." Bran muttered, before rubbing his brow "I shouldn't keep her waiting. She makes me very nervous…" Bran said as he lifted himself into his wheelchair.

"What? Why?" Jojen asked curiously, causing Bran to roll his eyes.

"Because she's beautiful, Jojen. Are you blind?" Bran had not realized that the guards opened the door just as he said that, with Queen Daenerys directly across the threshold. Bran flushed a bright pink as Daenerys realized what he had said and smiled kindly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. I was hoping to speak with you a moment, Lord Brandon."

"O-of course, Your Grace. My apologies…" Bran murmured, rolling forward out of the room and throwing a glare back at Jojen.

"Lord Stark-." One of the guardsmen began as Dany and Bran began to walk down the corridor, Bran merely raised a lordly hand to stay them.

"I'll be fine, Erryk. Protect Lord Jojen." Bran called over his shoulder, earning a slightly impressed nod from Daenerys.

"You trust me that much?"

"I don't think you'll hurt me, Your Grace. If you wanted to, you could have done so when we first docked in your harbor." Bran said as they moved down the corridor together. Daenerys smiled again, choosing in that moment to offer Brandon Stark the same respect he had shown her. She raised her hand to stop her Unsullied soldiers.

"I'll be fine, wait outside the guest chambers for me." She said, sending them quietly back down the corridor. Bran smiled up at Dany slightly.

"Do you mind my asking how you fell?"

"Not at all. I-…was _thrown_ actually. I climbed the towers of Winterfell often, in the rain, in the snow. I never fell. But when the Lannisters came to Winterfell, I climbed up to one of our abandoned towers one day, the King and my father had gone on a hunt with all the older boys, and I had wanted to watch them ride from up high…but when I reached the top…I saw Queen Cersei with her brother." Bran explained as they reached an archway that led out to a terrace garden overlooking the city. The night air was comfortably warm here, the sky was cloudless and millions upon millions of stars illuminated their walk.

"What were they-? Oh." Daenerys remembered.

"The Kingslayer, he threw me from the room hoping the fall would kill me. I fell into a deep sleep, that's where my powers awoke. But…sadly I can never walk again." It still hurt, for it had only been a short time ago that Bran awoke. But the young man was strong of mind and soul, and was overcoming his hurdles with the fortitude and determination of a Stark of Winterfell.

"I'm sorry, Brandon."

"Please, don't be. And call me, Bran, Your Grace. Everyone else does."

"Alright. Bran. So…how did you learn your powers?" she asked as they reached the wall of the garden, she sat on a white stone bench as Bran rolled his chair to stop across from her.

"That…is a very long story." Bran chuckled, before running a hand through his hair to recount how Robb had given him leave to go Beyond-the-Wall with Jojen to seek out the three-eyed-raven, and of how the Voice of the Old Gods had trained him in his gifts.

"And so your brothers and sisters have these powers as well?"

"Aye, only the skinchanging though. Greensight is…rare, and I am apparently the only one amongst them who is blessed with it."

"It must be such a burden…to see what is to come, to try and convince others of what you are seeing. It is…very odd for me. All of this. Your arrival, Jon Stark calling himself my brother's son, magic and death. It's…I never expected any of this, do you know?" Dany admitted to Bran, who smiled understandingly.

"I know. I don't think any of us did, in truth. Robb…I know he thought he'd live and die in Winterfell. Jon thought his life was to be a Man of the Night's Watch. I know you think my father destroyed your family, but he was a good man. The best man I will ever know, and I swear to you…he didn't kill your niece and nephew." Bran's voice was full of emotion, for he mourned Ned Stark as greatly as anyone else. His father had been the good that a rotting nation had needed until they were all strong and old enough to fight. Dany said nothing, she merely gave him a nod. She was not swayed from the opinion she had as a child, but she was open to learning more.

"What your brother is offering me…personally it sounds wonderful, and two years ago I would have leapt at the chance to return to Dragonstone as a Westerosi noblewoman. But I can't do that anymore…not until Slaver's Bay is free. Which is one of the reasons I fear I may not be able to join you…" she said honestly, perhaps more honestly than she really should have. Bran however chewed his lip to think.

"I don't mean to offend you when I say this…but you should consider learning something from Robb and his council. They are bringing Westeros to heel, and it was an unyielding beast at the best of times. They can have insight into how to exert your authority here, whilst also regaining your power in Astapor and Yunkai. Robb…is an undefeated warrior, his mind for battle is perhaps one of the greatest in generations. He can help you, but you have to also help yourself."

"How do you mean, help myself?"

"Firstly…I believe that your compassion has stood in the way of you returning Meereen to a grand city. The freedmen overflow it, and I know that Robb and Jon will probably already have a few ideas of how you can put those freedmen to use to clear up some space and also start turning Slaver's Bay into a self-sustaining economy outside of Slavery."

"I will not put these people back to work in chains!" Daenerys couldn't believe that this was what Bran was suggesting, she had not at all thought he was that kind of person.

"Your Grace, that is not what I'm saying at all. But people _can_ work without being in chains. The smallfolk of Westeros are put to work and they receive compensation for it. Speak to Robb on this matter, I urge you."

"And the second way to help myself?" she asked after a moment.

"Come with us." Bran said seriously "Even if you settle Slaver's Bay and bring peace without us…it will only last for a short time until the Others come to Essos. If they conquer us, they will have more wights, more supplies, more resources to cross the Narrow Sea, extend their evil magic and destroy all life as we know it. You have dragons here, and that is a strong enough power against them to be sure. But what if it's not enough? What if the-."

"I can't control them." Dany admitted without thinking, but she realized it was the right thing as soon as she said it. She looked up into Bran's eyes and said it again. "I can't control my dragons…what if I can't help you…?" she asked quietly, only for Brandon Stark to give her one of the kindest things she had had in a while; a reassuring smile and a comforting pat on her knee.

"That's why we're here. I will help you control them." Bran promised.


	25. Chapter 25 - Allies

_**Author's Note: Hi everyone, I've been having some pretty bad writer's block recently, so this is a very short update, as it's the best I could get out of myself right now. Hoping to get back in the groove soon.**_

 _ **Enjoy. :)**_

* * *

"Queen Daenerys, tales of your beauty have not been unfounded." Quentyn Martell reminded her much of Hizdahr zo Loraq, and it was obviously not in a good way. He had even greeted her in the same manner as Hizdahr had oh so many months ago, but Dany forced herself to remain pleasant. It was the second day of the Westerosi party's stay in Meereen, and Queen Daenerys had graciously allowed Robb Stark's fleet to anchor in Meereen for supplies. With so many Westerosi swords now in Meereen in "alliance" with Queen Daenerys's Unsullied, rebellions by the Sons of the Harpy practically ceased due to the overwhelming display of force now in the city. Crime dropped to unprecedented levels, but it was not a lasting change. Dany knew that, which was why she had organized a breakfast in the Great Pyramid between their two factions. A towering Northman who called himself Smalljon Umber had brought this Quentyn Martell to the Pyramid. Where Quentyn had at once made his way to bow before Daenerys, who had been engaged in an informal discussion with Robb Stark. Dany could see that Quentyn's interruption and appearance irked the Young Wolf greatly, and she could guess why.

Bran had told Dany the night before of how Quentyn Martell had snuck aboard one of the ships, as they had spoken late into the night of Bran's powers, of Meereen, of Westeros and the voyage to seek her out. She had grown quite fond of the young Stark lad, he was unlike any of the people she had met in Essos. All of them were. She had never met a woman so beautifully fierce as Dacey Mormont, she had never heard a dwarf speak so eloquently and command such respect with his intelligence. Robb Stark was grim and stoic, but she could sense goodness in him, as well as desperation to return to Westeros. Every moment here tested the Wolf King's patience, Dany could see. It amused her slightly.

"You are most kind, Prince Quentyn. You are welcome in Meereen, for your own aunt was my sister by law. But if you would kindly know not to interrupt King Robb and I again, it would prove most beneficial in your keeping my hospitality." Dany said, her words as sweet as honey. So much so that it took Quentyn a moment to realize what she had said. Abashed, the Prince of Dorne bowed humbly before awkwardly walking away.

"Well handled." Robb grinned into his cup of juice. Daenerys smiled slightly in return.

"I'm glad you approve. But you were saying something before he came along." Dany prompted, with Robb's features sobering once more.

"I wasn't. I was in silent surprise from your request."

"Is it such an odd one to hear?"

"In this situation? Yes. Yesterday it seemed we were dancing back and forth between war and peace. Today you've organized this lovely breakfast, and you've come to me to ask my advice on your city. Is this a trick?"

"What trick could it possibly be? You brought your companions with you, because you knew that you could not convince me to your side by yourself. Congratulations, you succeeded. I am swayed to believe that you are here to make peace, but I cannot leave Meereen and Slaver's Bay in this condition. You…admittedly, have a good council around you." Daenerys glanced around the dining hall to take in his companions, before looking back to Robb himself "From what I've heard before you even sent me that letter, to what your brother told me last night…you are a good ruler. You were raised to rule. I was raised as an exile. You may be a conqueror, but men flock to your side to raise their swords. I am a breaker of chains, with freedmen flocking to my side to hide behind my swords."

"You've given them something they've never known. They've been given orders their whole life with whips and chains to scare them into line. They don't know what to do with themselves now, their skills are going to waste. You've given them freedom, but they still need guidance."

"What guidance?" Dany asked curiously, tilting her head to hear Robb Stark's thoughts.

"They are overcrowding your city because they expect you to have something else for them, some new way of life. Tell them to leave the city, establish supply lines and trade routes outwards. These people have been workers their entire lives, let them work for themselves now. The land outside Meereen was burned by the Old Masters, but they can be brought back for harvest. You can send them out to establish several villages, several to farm, one or two to fish in the bay, and so on. But the most important thing to do is to get them out of the city and get them to be self-reliant."

"You should also start having the Unsullied recruit soldiers from amongst the thousands and thousands of freedmen you have. You should be training soldiers and guardsmen for your city at once to bolster your forces. I can imagine there will be plenty of men and women who will want to fight for you and their freedom." Jon Stark, who had been hovering nearby, interjected with his own advice.

"I suppose that is common sense that I should have had…" Daenerys muttered to herself, before taking a breath. This was not an easy experience for her, after having climbed so far and so high, to admit that she needed help from people she had always believed wanted her dead. But she also could see the wisdom in their words, she could see that they did genuinely want to help her.

"This counsel is precisely what I require. I need to ensure Meereen is safe while I am with you in Westeros. Perhaps we can resume our talks after this meal? And Lord Jon can finally properly explain to me the circumstances of his birth and parentage." Dany said, glancing from Robb to Jon who both agreed at once.

"Thank you." Robb said sincerely, Dany nodded with a slight smile that was quickly wiped away when Daario Naharis exploded into the dining hall with two of his scouts by his side.

"Your Grace, an army approaches on the Demon Road to the west." Daario stated, causing the mellow, jovial tone of the breakfast to shatter at once.

"Smalljon, Dacey, men to arms and armor at once." Robb ordered, with his best friends bowing their heads before instantly striding out of the room.

"What army?" Daenerys demanded on Daario, who turned to one of his scouts to report.

"The Golden Company, my Queen. Sellswords. I saw their banners from the black cliffs, I rode as fast as I could, but they should be here in an hour, maybe less." The man was covered in dirt and sweat and was still slightly out of breath.

"It could be the Yunkai'i and their promise of retribution. There've been tales that they were seeking to hire sellswords to depose you." Daario Naharis reported, exchanging a meaningful glance with Robb and Jon as Daenerys herself looked to Jorah, her ever-present protector.

"How many?" Jon Stark asked as he, Robb, Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister moved to stand on either side of Queen Daenerys.

"Six thousand, maybe more. Only a quarter of them are mounted however." The second scout reported, equally as travel worn as his companion, this man had a look of fear in his eyes that they could all plainly see.

"Khaleesi, what are your orders?" Ser Jorah asked, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Ring the city bells. Have the Unsullied and the Second Sons move to arms. King Robb…will you join us if it should come to battle?" Dany asked, her mouth slightly dry as she looked to Robb Stark whilst Daario Naharis and his scouts bowed their heads to leave at once.

"I will join you to protect the innocent of this city. But I hope that you understand my men did not come here to fight a foreign war."

"I understand. And if we all come out of this alive, I promise you that we will begin preparations to sail to Westeros."

"Not 'if' we come out alive, Queen Daenerys. _When_." Robb smiled, bowing his head before striding out of the chambers with Jon and Ser Barristan. Bran, Tyrion, Jojen, Meera and the wolves remained behind with Daenerys, who clenched her fist nervously. Ser Jorah remained by her side waiting for further orders. She wondered how the Young Wolf could be so confident in the face of battle, though she did not know that Robb had learned to disguise his fear under a commander's face. He had to, for the Northmen did not respect fear. But fear had kept Robb alive, fear had made him a brilliant tactician and a wise commander of his men.

"Ser Jorah."

"Khaleesi?"

"You have command of my forces…but I give Robb Stark command of the field."

* * *

"She said _what_?" Robb asked in shock, as he stood on the walls of the city. A greatly disgruntled Jorah Mormont clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. The two men stood with Jon, Ser Barristan, Dacey and Smalljon on the great multi-colored brick wall that overlooked the scorched expanse of land before Meereen's gates. It was here that the Old Masters had watched as Daario Naharis slew their champion in single combat and Queen Daenerys had declared her intent to free the slaves of Meereen. Much time had passed since then, with the three-headed-dragon of House Targaryen flying from the ramparts in almost every corner of the city. The city bells were ringing, and behind them the city itself was in near-chaos as the freedmen fought to seek shelter from a siege. Robb's forces and the Unsullied were falling into rank on the ground below, as the Golden Company marched ever closer. The sounds of their drums could still be heard over the powerful tolling of the city bells.

"Queen Daenerys has given you command of the field." He repeated through gritted teeth. Robb exchanged a glance with Jon Stark, who shrugged slightly. They both took this extremely unsuspected offer as a good sign that Daenerys was their ally, for who would trust an enemy with the defense of their city?

Robb looked back to Jorah Mormont to nod. "Very well. Tell me of the city's forces."

"The Unsullied number eight thousand in total. The Second Sons have two thousand men. Queen Daenerys recently ordered the formation of the Brazen Beasts, our city watch, and they number just over a thousand at the moment. Pit fighters have also formed a contingent of their own and fight under my command, they number at 200." Jorah said, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Is that the truth?" Robb asked Jorah sternly, who clenched his jaw and averted his gaze for a moment.

"We have admittedly lost some of our men to the Sons of the Harpy and in-fighting…" Jorah admitted uncomfortably. Robb merely shook his head before turning his back on Jorah Mormont. He could not blame Jorah Mormont for trying to keep the secrets of their army from him, but it certainly still annoyed the Wolf King that Jorah would threaten their lives by not offering such information willingly.

"Dacey, archers to the wall. Smalljon augment the guards in the city with our men, restore order to this madness before we are faced with a war within and without, have the rest of the troops fall into reserve formation."

"The Unsullied will march out-." Jorah began before Robb cut him off with a scoff.

"To a slaughter? Those are mounted sellswords out there, and they will decimate even the Unsullied on the field. We have high walls, we will put them to use. Order your men to the walls with bows and arrows, prepare trebuchets and whatever other long-range defenses you have to you."

"Where are the dragons?" Jon asked Jorah, who glared at the Hand of the King for a moment before he answered.

"They cannot be used. Not yet."

"They cannot be controlled you mean." Robb said, earning a glower from Ser Jorah in turn.

"Your Grace." Dacey Mormont called from one of the bastions nearby. Robb turned his gaze to her, only for Dacey to gesture over the walls to the approaching company of sellswords. Their banners of golden skulls were dipped, flew instead was a white banner of peace.

"Stop the bells." Robb ordered at once, with Jon sending a messenger to do just that. Several minutes later, the bells stopped their ominous clanging and Meereen watched as the Golden Company fell into rectangular formation before the city walls, and they watched as three riders flying pure white standards rode out from the horde to the main gates of the city. The High Command of the city watched and waited. No one said a word, for they knew what was about to come.

"Ser Jorah! I think you need to come down here!" It was one of the guards from the city gates, he looked both confused and frightened, which didn't help when Jorah barked at him to explain what was going on.

"They-uh-…they claim to be…representing…Prince-... _Aegon Targaryen_ …?" The gate guard said reluctantly. Jorah looked lost for words, whilst Jon and Robb both stiffened, armed with the knowledge that Varys had given them in Westeros. They knew this Aegon was a fake.

"The Queen gave you command of the field. What are your orders?" Ser Jorah asked after a beat. Robb's head was momentarily blank. He knew that if 'Aegon' was outside these walls then that certainly meant that Jon Connington was there too. A fractured member of the infamous Red Council who now believed his cause to place a tanner's unwanted son on the Iron Throne was true and just. Jon Connington need only look at Robb's banners and war would erupt in Meereen. If he was careful, he could avoid the bloodshed now, and win the infamous Golden Company to Daenerys Targaryen's side.

"Your Grace." Dacey asked, having Robb turn his vivid blue gaze to her. "What are your orders?"


	26. Chapter 26 - The Pisswater Prince

"What are your orders?" Dacey Mormont asked. Jon Stark, Jorah Mormont, Smalljon Umber and Ser Barristan stood with her looking at the stoic and silent Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. King Robb Stark looked up, his blue gaze burning with determination as he made his plans instantaneously.

"I must speak with Queen Daenerys at once. These men cannot know that I am here, or we will face certain war. Jon, Dacey, Smalljon. It is an impossible feat I ask of you now, but go. Hide my sigil; hide _our_ presence as best as you can from these envoys. Ser Jorah, you must bring these men to the Great Pyramid and stall them whilst I speak with the Queen." Robb's commanders did not linger to bow their heads, they all knew time was off the essence. Jon, Smalljon and Dacey hurried away in three different directions, watched by Robb, Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah.

"What's going on here, Stark? What troubles you so? Aegon Targaryen is dead, is he not?" Ser Jorah asked in a confused tone as Robb turned his gaze back over the walls to the six thousand sellswords.

"He is. Dashed against a wall by the Mountain. But that boy out there was raised to believe otherwise. Queen Daenerys must know what I know at once." Robb said, walking down the wall walk with Ser Barristan by his side. He could see his men slowly start to lower his standards and disperse quickly from sight into whatever shelter they could seek, most flooded back towards the docks. He hoped that they had enough time.

* * *

"King Robb?" Daenerys rose from her seat in her private quarters in the Great Pyramid, where she had invited Bran, Tyrion Lannister, Jojen and Meera Reed to join her and Missandei. Ser Raynald Westerling, knight of the Kingsguard, stood dutifully behind the Lord of Winterfell, whilst a dozen Unsullied were gathered to protect the Queen. "What has happened?" Daenerys continued as Robb marched into the chambers hurriedly with Ser Barristan at his back. Both men were out of breath, having clearly hurried to the Great Pyramid with all haste from the walls of the city.

"Are they attacking?" Tyrion asked, only for Robb to shake his head.

"Not yet. But they might if they know that anyone from Westeros is here. Especially me." Robb sighed, before turning his gaze to Daenerys once more.

"Does the term _Red Council_ mean anything to you?"

"No? At least…I don't _think_ so…" Daenerys replied, her brow furrowing for a moment.

"Think back to your childhood. To Ser Willem Darry, did he ever mention those words. Did he ever speak of Olenna Tyrell, Doran Martell, Varys, Jon Connington and Illyrio Mopatis?"

"I-…Maybe…but Illyrio, I first met him when I was thirteen. Ser Willem had died long before that." Daenerys approached Robb as he frowned and sighed again.

"When I came into the Iron Throne, I discovered something most sinister had been going on in the shadow of the throne for over twenty-years. Long before you and I were born, and even before the Rebellion. It was not my wish to explain this you in this situation, but if you do not know what I know…then I have sailed my men into a slaughter." Robb said, clenching his jaw as he finished. Daenerys looked utterly taken aback for a moment before her features hardened and she took on the mask of the Dragon Queen herself.

"You promised me aid when we had no knowledge of who was marching on my city. I believe you are a good man, Robb Stark. So tell me what you know, and I will listen fairly."

"Your father was beginning to lose his mind years before the Rebellion. Ser Barristan, I believe, can attest to this. He saved the man from the Defiance of Duskendale after all."

"You did?" Daenerys breathed, looking to the old knight behind Robb Stark who nodded sadly.

"I did, Queen Daenerys. It was my greatest achievement, and perhaps simultaneously my biggest failure. What came after was only horror and destruction." Ser Barristan said woefully, averting his gaze as he did so.

"Ser Barristan, it seems, was not the only person in Westeros to feel that way. Your brother did as well."

"Rhaegar?" Dany asked in surprise.

"Aye. It seems that your brother had been gathering supporters to lay his claim to the Iron Throne. They wanted to install Rhaegar as King peacefully, as Aerys was no longer fit to rule. But those plans went to tatters when your brother took my aunt. They tried to protect those of you they could, they smuggled you and Viserys away, and they tried to get to your brother's children, but the Mountain got there first…" Robb trailed off, shaking his head slightly at the horror that had befallen the real children of Rhaegar Targaryen. "They had planned to replace Aegon with the son of a tanner that they had bought for a jug of Arbor Gold, the tanner had other sons but had never tasted Arbor Gold, I am told." Robb sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. Daenerys remained silent, waiting for Robb to continue.

"After the Rebellion, many powers still supported you and they formed in the shadows to fight for the red dragon. They called themselves the Red Council. Olenna Tyrell, Doran Martell, Lord Varys, Illyrio Mopatis, Jon Connington and Ser Willem Darry." Robb glanced to see that Daenerys's violet gaze flickered with recognition of he names she heard. "This… _council_ took it upon themselves to craft the perfect Targaryen dynasty to return and take back the Iron Throne from Robert Baratheon. You were sent with Willem Darry to be protected and hidden, raised to be a Queen. Viserys was promised to Arianne Martell to seal an agreement that Dorne would rise for the Targaryens. But when Ser Willem died, they lost track of you both for some time until Viserys made a name for himself."

"The Beggar King. I remember. I wouldn't call it much of a name." Daenerys said with a tone of distaste.

"Well, whatever the case was, Illyrio waited for Viserys to come to him. You however were not the only pieces being used by this council. Jon Connington stole away with the tanner's son. The boy's mother had been a Lysene whore, blonde hair and eyes so blue they looked purple apparently. The boy too had her features, and the council plotted to use him as yet another piece in their game. They have raised this boy to believe that he is Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar." Robb declared, causing Daenerys to raise her eyebrows, before Robb continued.

"Until I won the war, and the council splintered, that is. Most of them saw that I was what was good for Westeros, some didn't. At my orders, those who came to my side when I took the throne ceased all their activities behind the shadows to manipulate the Crown. Jon Connington led the dissent, and he fights for a boy that has not a drop of your blood in his veins, or blood of any nobleman to name. And that boy who falsely calls himself your nephew is outside your walls with six-thousand sellswords."

" _What_?" Daenerys asked sharply, before pressing a few fingers to her temple as a headache suddenly set in. So much was beginning to happen in such a short amount of time, and Dany still marveled that she had once been a wandering, homeless exile in the Red Waste. She blinked a few times, before looking up to see Robb Stark gazing at her with a clenched jaw, waiting for her verdict on his story.

"I know it is not an easy story to believe, Queen Daenerys. But it is one you should know, for the Golden Company have sent three envoys ahead on behalf of this false prince. They await you below. I have ordered my troops to retreat to our ships, in fear that my banners would incite war. I do not want bloodshed, I've made that plain." Daenerys observed the Young Wolf for a long moment, before she silently picked up her skirts to walk past him and out of the chambers. She stopped just at the archway entrance, turning to look over her shoulder at him.

"Well? Will you join me?"

* * *

Queen Daenerys Targaryen sat upon her ebony throne with Missandei by her side and six Unsullied soldiers around her for protection. Several more Unsullied were stationed around her audience hall as silent sentries. They could have been statues for their inhuman like stillness. King Robb Stark hovered in the shadows at the back of the hall with Ser Barristan by his side. He had elected to remain unseen by the envoys until Daenerys thought the time was appropriate. It was most certainly a risk, for Daenerys could choose to believe 'Aegon's' envoys and offer up Robb's corpse as a token of alliance. Or she could choose to believe Robb and side with him. The Young Wolf hoped that he had given the Dragon Queen enough cause for her to do the latter.

Ser Jorah led the three envoys into the audience hall, and judging by their attitudes, none of them had yet seen the sigil of House Stark. The envoys themselves were garbed in riding silks and leathers that Robb could see were stained with both dirt and blood. As they removed the silks, he could see that the armors they wore were freshly scratched and worn.

"They've been in battle." Ser Barristan whispered quietly beside Robb. "Recently." Robb merely nodded at his Lord Commander's observation, choosing to keep silent as the envoys kneeled before Daenerys. Jon Stark and Daario Naharis crept into the audience hall to linger unseen with Robb at the back. Ser Jorah climbed the many steps to stand beside Daenerys's throne as her guard, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword as he did so.

"You stand before Queen Daenerys of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons." Missandei, ever dutiful, announced to the envoys in the same manner as she had announced to Robb a few days ago. The middle of the three envoys, a big-bellied, shambling hulk of a man with a seamed face crisscrossed with old scars, rose from his kneel to step forward and speak.

"Queen Daenerys. I am Ser Franklyn Flowers, a Captain in the Golden Company. A free company formed by Ser Aegor Rivers, the bastard son of your own ancestor King Aegon the Fourth."

"Formed to fight for House Blackfyre and _depose_ House Targaryen." Ser Jorah pointed out, earning a glimmer of appreciation from Robb and Jon Stark in that moment.

"Aye, in days of old the golden skulls flew in the wind against the red dragon. But the Blackfyres are gone, and the company's purpose remains true; black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. We fight for House Targaryen, and to prove our loyalties to you, I have been sent with a token of fealty." Franklyn gruffly turned to his fellow envoys, who had heavy bags draped around their shoulders. Bags that Daenerys could now see were stained with dried blood. Her stomach turned slightly whilst her features remained impassive.

"At the behest of our dragonlord, we marched for you down the demon road, knowing that we would face certain death. We marched anyway with speed and determination, for we knew that Yunkai had dispatched three companies in their service to besiege Meereen. We first found the Company of the Cat not ten leagues out from Volantis, lingering as they raided villages for plunder. We defeated them soundly in the name of House Targaryen. Next we found the Brave Companions near Mantarys, a city of monsters fit for the Bloody Mummers, and now serves as their eternal resting spot. Last, we found the Windblown, and through our forces, persuaded them to abandoned Yunkai and fight for you. They remain on the demon road to fight off any possible attack from the west. The Golden Company has lost over two thousand lives to reach you, my Queen. But every man laid down his life willingly for this cause. Our tokens of loyalty are the heads of the commanders of the companies sent to attack you." Frankly gestured to his companions who placed the heavy sacks they carried on the ground before the steps leading up to Daenerys's throne. Daenerys clenched her jaw, feeling a storm of conflicting emotions. On one hand, this company had in fact defeated thousands of swords marching for her. On the other, they could be harboring an imposter. She moved her violet gaze from the bloody sacks to Ser Franklyn Flowers.

"You say you did all of this at the behest of your dragonlord. I do not remember giving you these orders, Ser Franklyn." Daenerys challenged, earning a smile from Robb and Jon at the back of the hall. Ser Franklyn shifted uncomfortably where he stood, exchanging a glance with his companions as he did so.

"It is-…um. It is-…I should not have said-…I apologize, Your Grace. I was ordered to be more concise about what I said, but I failed. Our dragonlord is a Targaryen, your blood, your nephew. Our dragonlord is Prince Aegon of the House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Elia Martell." Ser Franklyn declared, clearly expecting a reaction out of Dany, and looking most put-out when the Queen continued to stare at him for a while.

"My nephew, along with the rest of my family, are very much dead, Ser Franklyn. Aegon had his head dashed against a wall by the Lannisters, whilst his sister was stabbed half-a-hundred times."

"It grieves me to say that Princess Rhaenys did perish that day, but Prince Aegon was smuggled out of the capital on your father's orders by his most trusted friend; Lord Jon Connington. Your Grace, the Prince Aegon and Lord Jon both beg audience with you, for the Prince wishes to reunite with his last surviving family member to reclaim what is yours, and to reclaim what the Golden Company have been fighting for since their inception."

"And what is that, Ser?"

"Westeros, my Queen. Westeros." Ser Franklyn said determinedly, appealing to a side of Daenerys that still yearned for the Iron Throne. She chewed her lip for a moment, looking over Franklyn Flowers's head to exchange a glance with Robb Stark. The way he looked at her, with anxious trust, reminded her of only a few hours ago when he had agreed to help her from an unknown threat without a second thought. He had not lied to her since he first made contact, she had no reason to doubt him now. She had no reason to turn on him, besides a relatively unfounded desire to reclaim the Iron Throne. She gave him a small smile of reassurance before flicking her purple eyes back to Franklyn Flowers.

"I will meet your Lord Connington and this boy you claim is my nephew. But I will only allow them through my walls. The Golden Company may remain encamped beyond."

"That is fair, Your Grace." Franklyn smiled, bowing his head.

* * *

"She will see you, but only you and the lad." Franklyn Flowers said, slightly breathless as he walked into the Captain-General's tent where Jon Connington, Homeless Harry Strickland, 'Aegon Targaryen', Septa Lemore and Haldon Halfmaester were gathered and waiting. Jon Connington and 'Aegon' rose at once, both grinning.

"How did she like our gifts?" 'Aegon' asked eagerly, causing Haldon and Lemore to exchange one of their unseen glances behind everyone's back. Franklyn Flowers shrugged and shook his head.

"She didn't. I was only in her audience for a short while, but I can tell ye' now. The rumors of her being a bloodthirsty monster are not true. She seems wise, shrewd. The tales of her beauty are _entirely_ true however." Franklyn reported, causing 'Aegon' to smile somewhat perversely.

"Good. She will make a fine consort." 'Aegon' said in that snotty of way of his that Jon Connington was entirely oblivious to. Harry Strickland and Franklyn Flowers however exchanged a meaningful look, for the Captain-General had understood Franklyn's words plain enough; Daenerys was no man's consort. She was a Queen in her own right. "She also wants our Captain-General to come along as well. She will allow you some guards, but she wants the men to remain out here." Franklyn said, looking back to Jon Connington, whose smile abruptly wiped away at this revelation.

"Why would she want to see Strickland?" Franklyn merely shrugged at Connington's question.

"I believe she said something about wanting to understand the army that is camped outside her walls. A fair request from her place, I'd say."

"Very well. Harry saddle up. We ride into the city." Jon Connington said brusquely, before striding out of the tent with one arm around 'Aegon'. A move he would later regret, for he left their highest counsel alone in the tent to speak freely for the first time.

"The boy's a fool." Harry Strickland said first, causing all eyes to whip towards him.

"He's no Targaryen, believe me. Once you see what a real Targaryen looks like, that boy looks more and more like a tanner's son." Franklyn agreed. Haldon and Lemore looked at each other for a long moment.

"The stories are true." Haldon said finally, Harry Strickland and Franklyn Flowers whipped their heads up sharply.

"Connington lies with every-!"

"Ssh!" Lemore stepped forward to place her hand over Strickland's mouth, silencing him quickly.

"Do you want war to break out in your camp, Strickland? Gods be good…" Lemore said quietly, before stepping away from him. Franklyn Flowers however looked furious.

"We lost two thousand fucking men, _friends,_ to that little _shit's_ orders. And you tell us _now_ that he's an impostor? You've been with our camp for _weeks_. And _now_ you speak?" Franklyn stepped closer and closer to Haldon until he had the Halfmaester's linen robes clenched in his fists.

"We have never had chance to speak as candidly as we do now. Connington goes to make the boy look princely, a hopeless task if I've ever known one. I taught the boy since he was a babe, and he is not worthy of being king. Strickland, the Golden Company fought for House Targaryen. For her." Haldon pointed towards the general direction of the city where Daenerys was waiting, not even bothering to try and pry himself away from the raging Franklyn Flowers.

"Let him go, Frank." Harry ordered with a growl after a moment.

"Two-thousand boys, Harry. Two thousand of our boys lost to _a lie!_ "

"Not a lie. Go to her, go to her side. Prove your loyalty." Haldon said urgently, placing his hands atop Franklyn's large, scarred fists.

"You must play the game. Play their ally until you can tell Queen Daenerys the truth." Lemore urged to Harry Strickland.

"After all these years by his side, why are you two so eager to turn cloak?" Harry demanded after a moment, glaring at both of them.

"We thought we were aiding House Targaryen." Lemore said.

"We were wrong." Haldon said, managing to finally get himself out of Franklyn's grip. "But it's not too late to fix our mistake. The true dragon, the _Mother of Dragons_ is beyond those walls, and we can finally all do what we promised to do."

"And what's that, you shit?" Franklyn barked at Haldon who took a deep breath before looking at Franklyn.

"Serve. House. Targaryen." Franklyn exhaled through flared nostrils, gritting his teeth as he wished to punch the Halfmaester right there and then run a sword through Connington's back after, but he couldn't deny that the man had a point. It wasn't his call though, so he stepped back to look at Harry Strickland. The portly and balding Captain-General did not like betrayal, but he knew that he promised his men that they served the dragon. He had to make good on that promise.

"Very well. Flowers, you'll ride with me. Bring Black Balaq, Tristan Rivers and Lysono Maar. Tell them, but make sure they know to go along with our game until the time is right."

"You'd better be right about this, Harry." Franklyn muttered in a low growl as he shouldered Haldon aside to leave the tent.

"We should go before Connington realizes he has left us alone." Lemore said to Haldon, who rubbed his chest painfully and nodded.

"Be wary, Captain-General. Connington is still dangerous, and the boy fights as well as any knight." Haldon wheezed, before leaving the tent with Lemore.

* * *

Daenerys wrung her wrists as she stood on the platform of her throne, watched by Robb Stark and Jon Stark. Ser Jorah, Grey-Worm and Daario Naharis stood around the platform as her guard, eyeing her protectively.

"I've gone from being the last Targaryen to having two nephews." She said finally, turning to face Robb and Jon.

"I know saying that our claim is true and theirs is not does nothing, but it _is_ the truth." Robb said, causing Dany to sigh.

"You are biased, of course. And there is no real way to prove either of you are Targaryens, but I suppose after all this time it doesn't really matter. Not after what happened to Viserys. What was that old saying? _The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."_ Daenerys said, looking up to one of the slit windows that poured golden light into the audience hall. "I shall have to see which of you I can form a stronger covenant with, I suppose. I hope you do not fault me in at least speaking to this boy. I must know for myself."

"Of course not. But I hope you don't fault Jon and I for electing to remain in audience."

"No. But I believe as before, it will be most wise for you to remain unseen."

"Agreed. And you remember what I said of the Golden Company?"

"I do." Dany confirmed with a nod and a smile.

"Excellent." Robb said, nodding once before turning on his heel with Jon to walk down the steps of the throne platform, just as Missandei opened the grand double doors of the audience hall.

"Your Grace, shall I bring them in?" Missandei asked, her gentle voice carrying across the hall. Dany waited until the Starks were standing at the very back of the hall, unseen by anyone who walked in, before nodding. She swallowed away a thickness in her throat as she took her seat upon the ebony throne, looking as elegant as ever as she waited.

Ser Franklyn Flowers returned with a Summer Islander with white hair, a Lyseni man so slender that she almost mistook him for a woman, a strapping man with long red hair and red stubble on his grizzled face acting as guards for the three men behind them. The first was a portly, balding man who wore many gold rings on his arm like Franklyn Flowers and his fellow guards. The second was a lithe, lanky youth who was admittedly very handsome, even despite the gaudy shock of blue hair that he sported. The third and last man was older and weathered with a similar shade of blue hair that did not suit him at all.

There was a strong moment of tension as they caught sight of each other for the first time, only thickened by the silence of the audience hall as the men filed before the steps leading up to Dany's throne. Missandei walked up several steps to stop and clasp her hands in front of her.

"Queen Daenerys, I bring before you Captain-General Harry Strickland of the Golden Company."

"Your Grace, I live to serve the dragon." Harry said reverently as he took a kneel before her. Dany smiled and nodded her head to him.

"Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost." Missandei said, with Connington stepping forward to incline his head to her.

"Your Grace, I served your father and your brother. I serve them still, and will do so until my dying breath. If it please, I would be the one to introduce this young man beside me. Queen Daenerys, it is my honor to introduce you to your nephew; Aegon of the House Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, Rightful Heir to the Iron Throne."

"It seems every one has a claim to the Iron Throne." Dany said wryly, earning a silent chuckle from Jon Stark at the back of the hall.

"Aunt Daenerys, I have long wished to meet you and join together to reclaim what is ours. I am your nephew, by all the graces of the Gods. I was smuggled by forces loyal to my father away from the Red Keep before the Lannisters could take me. I was sent with father's most loyal friend across the Narrow Sea. Lord Jon protected me, raised me and guided me here to seek you out, so that we may claim what is ours. So that House Targaryen can return to Westeros. We can rule together as King and Queen as our ancestors have done for three-hundred-years." 'Aegon' stepped forward, not showing Dany the respect of a Queen, and instead climbed up the steps to walk past Missandei. He did not think himself so lowly as to look up at his aunt. Dany bristled silently at this disrespect and said nothing as her protectors stepped forward to stop Aegon from taking the final step to stand on the platform of the throne. Aegon glared at Jorah, Daario and Grey-Worm before looking between them to Dany.

"Will you tell these men to move so that I may speak to you?"

"No. You may return to stand by your companions and speak to me, ' _nephew'_." Dany said pointedly, her smile razor sharp. 'Aegon' blistered slightly, clenching his fists by his side.

"I am a Targaryen, I believe we should be on equal level when we speak to one-another."

"You say you are a Targaryen. But saying that you are one does not make it so. My brother Viserys saying he was King of the Seven Kingdoms did not make that so. But you come to me with no proof, show me no respect and expect me to…what? Marry you? Serve as your Queen and give you my dragons and my army?" Dany asked, slightly angrily. Jon Connington could see that this situation was not going his way and so stepped forward to call to his ward.

"Come back down, lad. Don't be so rash, the Queen is right to question you." Jon said to the arrogant young man who stomped back down to stand by Jon and look up at Dany.

"This is quite a tale. Spirited away in the dark of the night, hidden for generations. I was much the same, but everyone knew I was a Targaryen. My nephew was killed, are you telling me that you rose from the dead?"

"No, Your Grace. I and my fellow allies loyal to your House had long made plans to get you, Viserys and Aegon away from the Crownlands as the Rebellions raged."

"And what of Rhaenys? Was my niece not important?" Dany asked, poking a hole in Jon Connington's rehearsed story.

"Rhaenys-…she-uh-…she-…was. Rhaenys was not accounted for. We never thought they'd harm an innocent girl. We were wrong. You were important because you were the King's own daughter, and your life was considered more at risk than hers. We thought there was still enough love for Rhaegar to spare her and Princess Elia. We were wrong." Jon Connington said, recovering fairly quickly to settle into a new lie. Dany took a deep breath through her nose, waiting for the rest of the story.

"We found a tanner in Pisswater Bend, he'd just had a son and we knew we needed to leave a babe in Aegon's presence. The tanner willingly gave his son for a jug of Arbor Gold, and the switch was made. I sailed before the Lannisters could attack with Aegon in my arms and a Household to protect and raise him in your brother's name. This boy is your nephew, Your Grace. Rhaegar's son." Jon Connington said the words so sincerely that Daenerys raised her eyebrow. The man believed his words so much, perhaps there could be a truth to them…? Dany flicked her gaze back to 'Aegon'.

"What is it you want from me?"

"To join us. Together Westeros cannot stand before us. We will conquer it together just as our ancestors did, with fire and blood. The people will rue the day that they forgot our names." The boy said viciously as he stepped forward once more to address her.

"Over my dead fucking body, you'll do that." Robb muttered quietly at the back of the hall, unheard by 'Aegon' and his companions.

"You would have the people suffer more after what happened?" Dany asked after a long moment of silence.

"Those who forgot where their loyalties should lie should suffer, yes." 'Aegon' said confidently up to her.

"My father burned people alive and saw Westeros to the brink of destruction. Before him Aegon the Unworthy brought countless generations of strife with his insatiable loins and many bastards. Maegor the Cruel executed all the builders of the Red Keep as well as torturing his own nephew to death. The Dance of Dragons saw my House rip each other apart for power. Perhaps once in a while a good Targaryen ruler came along, and now I am here, ruling Meereen."

"You are on the brink of war yourself. We helped you by killing those companies who were on their way here to kill you." 'Aegon' said, snotty as ever.

"Perhaps I am, but I've made a home for myself here in Essos. And if I were to return to Westeros it will not be with fire and blood. It will be in alliance with my friends, the Starks of Winterfell. King Robb?" Dany looked over 'Aegon's' head as Robb and Jon walked out of the shadows, watched by the flabbergasted Jon Connington, 'Aegon' and men of the Golden Company.

"Join me." Dany said to the Stark men, who waited respectfully at the bottom of the steps before climbing to stand in places of honor on either side of her.

"You see, 'Aegon', the Starks arrived only a few days before yourself. I have learned that Robb Stark rules Westeros, I have learned he rules it well. I learned that Westeros is on the brink of death from a power that is more significant than any you could comprehend. I may be a Targaryen, but fire and blood is not what I intend to bring to Westeros when it needs aid."

"The Starks killed your family!" Harry Strickland said aghast. Dany shook her head.

"No. My father killed Rickard and Brandon Stark. He brought about the Rebellion that led to his death and the end of my dynasty. Ned Stark," Dany glanced to Robb with a slight nod before continuing "Ned Stark rose to defend his people, his family and his life. Robert Baratheon killed my brother. Jaime Lannister killed my father. Tywin Lannister ordered Aegon and Rhaenys to die. I blame those men, not the Starks." Dany said, looking back to see that Jon Connington had gone white as a sheet.

"YOU ARE MAD! YOU WOULD HAND MY THRONE TO THIS USURPER WITH A SMILE!" 'Aegon' screamed, his pinched face turning red with fury as he took a step up.

"I heard another story, a variation of the beautiful tale you just spun, Lord Connington." Dany said sarcastically, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she spoke. "A tale of how a despondent lord who had failed my brother plotted to use a tanner's son as an impostor. When Aegon truly died, you had a spare baby, why not pretend the plan had succeeded? Why not craft your own King? That boy is a tanner's son. He is as much a Targaryen as the mud on my shoes." Dany said, causing 'Aegon' to flush angrily.

"HOW DARE YOU?! IT IS A LIE! I AM AEGON TARGARYEN, SIXTH OF HIS NAME. RIGHTFUL KING OF THE ANDAL-!"

"Oh shut up, you annoying little sot!" Franklyn Flowers barked over the boy's screaming.

"It is no lie. Queen Daenerys, may I speak?" Harry Strickland walked forward after throwing a vicious glare at Jon Connington. He roughly pulled 'Aegon' aside and pushed him back towards Jon Connington before turning to look up at Daenerys.

"What you said is true, for that tale has spread far and wide across the Known World. It would have been impossible to prove if Jon Connington did not have dissenters amongst his own party. There are two people who have raised this boy since he was a babe. A Septa and a Maester, both of whom admitted that the boy is no Targaryen. They admit that Connington is a liar. I only found this out this very day, and were it not for the fact I was coming before you, a _real_ Targaryen, I would have had my men slaughter this boy and Jon Connington where they stood."

"And now, what will you and your men do, Captain-General? Do you serve this…this…Pisswater Prince? Or do you serve the dragon?" Daenerys asked fiercely, rising from her ebony throne to look every bit like the Queen she was. Homeless Harry Strickland looked to Franklyn Flowers, Black Balaq, Lysono Maar and Tristan Rivers who nodded their heads to him. Strickland withdrew his sword and knelt before the steps.

"The Golden Company is _yours_ , Queen Daenerys!"

"TRAITORS!" 'Aegon' spat fiercely as Jon Connington placed a hand on the boy's chest. The exiled lord's mind had snapped in face of the enormous odds against them. Though no-one could see that Jon was now truly mad, for he kept a calm and collected façade. He merely licked his lips, as he clutched at one last desperate straw.

"The dragons will prove him!" Connington declared, with every eye turning to look at him at once.

"Take him to the dragons, and you will see that this boy is a Targaryen. And you will rue your words against the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon."

Daenerys's eyes narrowed angrily as she looked from Jon Connington to 'Aegon'.

"Very well. If it is fire and blood you wish for, then fire and blood is what you shall receive." Dany said darkly, before beginning a descent down the steps.


	27. Chapter 27 - Fire & Blood

_**Author's Note: Sorry faithful readers, I've been on a job for the last week and a half working some crazy hours. #filmlife**_

 _ **Anyway! Here's the next update! It's shorter than I'd like...But it captures the gist of what's happening right now. Hope you enjoy.**_

* * *

King's Landing was grey and cold with the approaching winter; the green life that Margaery Tyrell had brought to life since becoming Queen was slowly turning brown, and the streets were now ever-wet from the rains. Where once this weather could have caused a riot in the capital (which had long danced on a thin line between chaos and order), the citizens were seen continuing their daily lives with confidence. Such was the strength of the newly formed Stark dynasty.

Queen Margaery, radiant from her pregnancy, stood in the newly renovated and refurbished Small Council chambers of the Red Keep looking out at the city and the rains from a long window with her dainty hands atop her swollen belly. Most of the remaining members of the Small Council sat in attendance as Lord Davos Seaworth delivered his report. Only Lord Varys was prominently missing from the gathered officials.

"...-with the might of our royal fleet away in Essos with the King, we've had to turn to Driftmark, the Arbor and Gulltown to supply the Iron Throne with ships to enforce our perimeters around Blackwater Bay until His Grace has returned."

"How many ships do we have in the Crownlands now?" Willas Tyrell asked of the Master of Ships, who glanced down to his ledger.

"Not counting the thirty-odd trade ships that are docked in the harbor, we have forty royal war ships remaining supplemented by an additional forty from the other Houses."

"How goes the construction on the new ships, Lord Davos?" Grand Maester Rickard inquired for Davos to smile in slight pride. The new ships had been commissioned after his innovative designs of _The Howl_ had yielded a successful new class of war ship for Westeros.

" _Lord Eddard's Honor_ is due to be completed by the end of this moon, along with the _Grey-Wind_ and the _Lady Catelyn. King Robb's Valor_ and _The Gliding Wolf_ are larger and thusly in need of more scorpions to be outfitted. It should take less than two moons at the most."

"They're not being built quick enough to make a difference." Princess Arianne Martell pointed out.

"Begging your pardon, Princess, but ships aren't built in a day." Lord Davos countered.

"What news of Garlan and Lord Brynden?" Margaery asked, having the Small Council collectively fall silent to look up at her at once. The Queen turned away from the window when no-one answered her to gaze at her council. "Well?"

"I've only had ravens reporting the royal army's presence in combing through the Crownlands and the Riverlands, but have heard little of their success. The smallfolk are comforted by the banners of House Stark, and the harvest has increased because of that."

"But Jaime Lannister remains at large." Margaery said after a beat, causing her council to avert their gazes. She sighed, raising a hand to massage her temple.

"I apologize, my dear friends. I grow weary from my pregnancy, I grow ever more anxious for Robb, and the man who tried to have me killed remains at large with an unknown force. The Long Night approaches, and I feel as though we are nowhere near prepared enough to meet it." Margaery said solemnly, causing Loras and Willas to move forward and comfort their royal sister.

"Margaey, Robb will return, you must have faith. Not even the Gods themselves could keep you two apart." Willas reassured her quietly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"Garlan has never failed before, and Lord Blackfish was Robb's most-trusted general; his own Master of War. They will find the Kingslayer, they will bring him to justice, and Robb will take his head for what he tried to do." Loras said, only to earn a sharp look from Willas followed by a roll of the eyes.

"Who in God's name taught you how to comfort someone?" Willas muttered at his baby brother, Margaery stepping away from her brother's to speak for herself cut off Loras's retort.

"Comfort is not what I want, though it is appreciated." Margaery said wearily to her brothers "I want information. Where is Lord Varys?" Margaery asked with a sigh, looking to Loras who could only shrug.

"I have sent my guards to search for him, but they've yet to return."

"I am sorry for my tardiness, Your Grace." Came a soft voice from behind them. The group turned their heads as one to see Lord Varys shuffling silently into the chambers with a barely-contained beam upon his features. "But I felt that I should confirm my report most thoroughly before delivering it."

"And what is your report, my lord?" Willas Tyrell asked as Varys held up an unfurled scroll.

"King Robb has made anchor in Meereen. Negotiations are underway, with Daenerys Targaryen having received His Grace with an olive branch. This report was written days ago, and if all goes well, the King could very well be on his way back to us at this moment."

"How many days ago?" Queen Margaery breathed, walking forward to hear the Spider better, for news that her husband was alive and well did much to soothe her anxious heart.

"I can't say for certain. The bird that brought this message to me was injured from a storm, and it took longer still for me to corroborate this news."

"Lord Varys you will come to me as soon as you receive more news on Robb, no matter what the hour, I wish to know at once."

"Of course, my Queen." Varys bowed humbly. "There is more news in this scroll, however. It seems that the Lord Hand, Lady Mormont and Commander Umber are not the only companions of His Grace in Meereen. There are descriptions of Lord Tyrion Lannister and Prince Quentyn Martell in King Robb's party."

" _What?_ " chorused Margaery and the Small Council at once. Only Arianne Martell seemed unsurprised by the news.

"What is the meaning of this?" Loras Tyrell demanded, looking to the Princess of Dorne.

" _Loras_." Margaery admonished her brother for his tone. "Arianne, dear friend, what do you know of this?" Margaery asked only for Arianne to sigh uncomfortably.

"I am sorry I did not say anything, in truth I did not think it important, but my brother Quentyn is one of the fifty spearmen I charged to assist the King in the name of Dorne. Of Lord Tyrion's attendance on the voyage I had no knowledge, I swear."

" _Did not think it important_." Lord Davos repeated back to her incredulously.

"Princess Arianne, the fact that your brother is there without any of our prior knowledge is greatly concerning, and the fact you refrained from telling us all this time even more so." Willas Tyrell said in a slightly stern tone.

"This explains why there has been no response from Casterly Rock as well." Margaery muttered, rubbing her brow.

"Very well. What else, Lord Varys?" Margaery asked, choosing to ignore her friend Arianne's omission for the moment.

"That's all I have so far, my Queen. With your leave, I will return to my-…well…I will return to listening the singing of the birds." Varys said with that traditional satisfied smile of his, before bowing his head to Margaery and leaving at her order.

* * *

Arianne sighed, though it was not out of pleasure. Daemon's hand caressed her hip as his lips planted a soft, affectionate kiss on her shoulder. Once this would have provided her great relief from a stressful day, but all it did was cause the feeling of guilt in her belly to deepen. Arianne rolled her eyes, pushing Daemon away as she walked towards an end table to pour herself another glass of wine. Daemon, shirtless but still in his breeches, looked confusedly at Arianne's back. The Princess of Dorne was still in her intricate and slightly revealing gown that she had worn to court that day, having only removed her jewelry and let her luscious, long dark hair fall around her shoulders.

"What is it?" Daemon Sand, her uncle's squire and the very man who had taken her maidenhead asked her with concern. Arianne had never acted so odd when she called him to her bed, nor had she ever taken so long to begin their act. He did not realize that when he had kissed her that night, she did not see his handsome olive-skinned Dornish features, she saw a rugged, beautiful Northman with a long face and grey eyes. When he had held her, she had felt an odd feeling that she had never known before. It felt like the time she had learned that Tyene had loved Daemon, and had wished to be with him before learning that Arianne had slept with him. Why she felt this…this… _guilt_ …she could not say. Jon Stark had been hers for a night. Just one. Was she expected to remain waiting for him? That was not her way…

"Arianne?" Daemon repeated her name for the third time, snapping Arianne out of her reverie.

"Hm? Oh. I've changed my mind, Daemon. I do not wish to do this anymore." Arianne said, unable to believe the words as she said them. Was she truly feeling like she was… _betraying_ Jon Stark?

"Are you-…what? Are you alright?"

"What? Just because I don't wish to fuck you tonight means something is wrong with me? Yes, Daemon, everything is fine. You may collect your things and leave me. Now." Arianne ordered sharply of the knight who blushed and collected his tunic and doublet before silently leaving Arianne to her thoughts.

"Monogamy…" Arianne scoffed quietly to herself as she paced in her chambers and wrung her wrists. Monogamy did not work in her eyes. She had never seen it work. Her mother had left her father, and her Uncle had more lovers than she could actually remember. Beyond that, Dorne was different from the rest of Westeros. Her uncle Oberyn had taught her what it meant to be Dornish, she saw from him what a Martell was. Didn't she?

 _No. Father is what a Martell should be. Father…who after Mother left never so much as thought of another woman. Father, who still keeps a portrait of Mother on him at all times. Father, who rules Dorne as wisely as the Old King himself._

Marrying Mellario of Norvos was the one time Doran Martell had followed his heart instead of his head, and he had lived to rue it. Arianne had once believed her father to be a weak fool. Crippled in mind as he was in body, until he revealed to her what Dorne had been working on behind the scenes. When she learned that he had been saving her for a Targaryen, she finally understood why he had entertained such ridiculous proposals for her hand, it was all a farce. Doran Martell had wanted his daughter to rise into royalty, but those dreams ended when Viserys Targaryen died. Now he was open with her about all his plans, now he groomed her to rule Dorne after he died. It was at his behest that _she,_ not Quentyn, took the seat on the Small Council. She examined herself in the Myrish looking glass. She was the daughter of Doran Martell, and perhaps she was more like her father than she cared to admit.

 _Foolish girl._ She thought to herself with a sigh as she finished her goblet of wine in a single gulp.

* * *

The city was deadly silent and still, all except for a slight breeze that swept through the streets sending dust and litter into the air. The citizens still remained in hiding, afraid that a siege was about to begin. Outside the walls of Meereen, the Golden Company remained encamped. The only sign of life within the walls was the column of Unsullied that led a large group of people from the entrance of Great Pyramid to Daenerys Targaryen's makeshift dragon pit beneath the Pyramid. Stark soldiers mingled freely with the Unsullied and the Golden Company sellswords who had abandoned the cause of Jon Connington to declare for the Mother of Dragons.

Daenerys Targaryen walked at the front of the party, her commanders and bodyguards on either side of her. 'Aegon Targaryen' and Jon Connington walked behind her with purpose, though their fates were despondent at best. The others gave the two a wide berth, forcing them to walk as outcasts. Robb Stark, King of Westeros and his companions walked behind them.

"This is wrong." Jojen Reed said with a shake of his head. Bran Stark, being rolled in his chair by Ser Raynald Westerling, glanced up to his friend with a frown.

"We didn't see this, Jojen. We don't know."

"This feels dangerous, Bran. You can feel it too. I know you can." Jojen said back quietly.

"If you boys have something to share…now be the time." Robb Stark turned his head slightly to say back to them. Bran merely chewed his lip, glancing up at Raynald who hurried his pace to roll Bran next to Robb and Jon.

"I didn't see this. Neither did Jojen. What we do here and now…it could change everything. These dragons…I'm not prepared for them. And neither is Daenerys."

"We don't need her to be prepared. We need the dragons to prove this fool is a fake and that Jon is real." Robb said, looking to his younger brother slightly pointedly. Bran looked taken aback for a moment.

"You want me to control the dragons? Manipulate them to make the choice for us?" Bran asked in quiet surprise. Robb merely held Bran's gaze as they walked.

"I did not sail this far to lose my men, my brothers and my life to a boy from Pisswater Bend." Robb said, causing Bran to fall silent.

"No." Jon spoke up, with Robb and Bran snapping their gazes to him. "I must find this out for myself. I must know if I am truly Rhaegar's son. If this is a test from the Gods, then let it be a fair one, Robb. I _must_ know. We _all_ must know. Once and for all." Jon said determinedly, walking past his brothers to join Daenerys Targaryen. Beyond the stables, the ground level of the Great Pyramid became a labyrinth, under three huge brick arches they went, then down a steep stone ramp into the depths, through the dungeons and torture chambers and past a pair of deep stone cisterns. Their footsteps echoed hollowly off the walls until at last a pair of heavy iron doors rose before them, rust-eaten and forbidding, closed with a length of chain whose every link was as thick around as a man's arm. The size and thickness of those doors was enough to make Robb Stark question the wisdom of this course. Even worse, both doors were plainly dented by something inside trying to get out. The thick iron was cracked and splitting in three places, and the upper corner of the left-hand door looked partly melted.

"By the Gods…what could do such a thing?" Ser Raynald breathed from behind Robb.

"Dragons, good ser." Daenerys, who had heard the white cloaked knight, glanced over her shoulder to answer him before she gestured for her soldiers to open the doors.

"I have had Viserion and Rhaegal kept down here because they have been growing wild, so wild that sometimes they won't listen to even me." Daenerys said as the clinking of the chains being removed from the door served to only thicken the tension amongst the group.

"You who calls yourself Aegon. You will accompany me."

"As will I." Jon Stark said loudly, with Daenerys flicking her violet gaze over to him.

"Very well." She said curtly, before turning her head back just as the Unsullied pushed open the iron doors to reveal the dark pit. Bran instantly froze in his seat, going so rigid that Robb noticed from the corner of his eye.

"Bran?"

"They…aren't…happy…" Bran breathed, surprised by the potency of the dragon's presence. He felt as though it would be…so simple to reach out and connect with them…to bond with them. He could already read their emotions. They felt…sad…cooped up…hurt…confused… _betrayed_.

"Robb…" Bran muttered, slightly overcome by the magic of the dragons, his voice too quiet to regain Robb's attention. Robb had by then turned his gaze to watch as Daenerys walked in between Jon and 'Aegon' into the pit. Several Unsullied soldiers walked behind them with torches in hand to bring some light into the consuming darkness of the pit.

Daenerys stopped walking, and allowed Jon and 'Aegon' to take several further steps forward whilst eyeing each other out venomously. 'Aegon' with his pinched features merely gave Jon an arrogant smirk, certain that his blood would be proven this day. The two men waited, watched by the large group at the doors, and by Daenerys Targaryen who glanced between them. The silence of the pit only thickened as time dragged by and nothing happened. Jon looked behind him uncertainly at Daenerys who remained impassive as she finally spoke a single word in High Valyrian.

" _Riñar_." Daenerys called for her children. Their chains clinked, the soldiers at the doorway jumped at the sound. Some began to pray, others drew their weapons uncertainly.

"Stay your blades." Dacey Mormont ordered at once of her men, whilst the Golden Company sellswords remained reluctant. Robb's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step forward as he saw a massive shape move out of the shadows, a beast of legend, a creature of myth; a dragon.

"By the Gods…" Robb breathed, watching as two dragons in chains inched forward towards Jon and 'Aegon'.

"Its not safe." Robb muttered. "Its not safe!" he said again loudly, making to move forward only to have Daario Naharis grab him.

"Let this happen." Benjen Stark muttered into his nephew's ear before stepping back to resume his role as Daenerys Targaryen's Tyroshi bodyguard.

Jon Stark went paler than he had ever known as he stared up into the dragons' eyes. Fearsome creatures they were. Stuff of his own nightmares with their fearsome appearance, but Jon at that moment felt a bond to these creatures. He felt their emotions as Bran had done, as Daenerys did. His blood, his powers…they gave him an almost unparalleled tangible connection to these creatures, and he could see that the dragons felt the same. There was confusion in them as they approached Jon uncertainly. 'Aegon' remained all but forgotten as Viserion and Rhaegal, Daenerys Targaryen's dragons crept closer and closer to Jon Stark until they were both practically nuzzling against him as they appraised this newcomer whose blood smelled so very much like their mother's.

Daenerys had never seen someone else be so close to her children without the dragons ripping them apart, and she watched with growing astonishment as Jon Stark reached out a cautious hand to gently graze against the side of Rhaegal's head. The whole party watched in amazement as Rhaegal's eyes blinked blissfully closed from Jon's touch, and the dragon relaxed into a less hostile position around Jon. Viserion snapped his jaws, and a startled Jon instinctively raised his other hand to scratch the underside of Viserion's chin, sending the other dragon into a similarly relaxed state.

"By the Gods…" Daenerys breathed, her sentiments shared by the group watching the proceedings from behind her.

"He's a Targaryen…" Robb whispered, watching his best friend, his closest advisor, his Hand finally answer a lifelong question as to who he was. Jon, not wishing to push his luck, began to creep away from the dragons back to Daenerys.

"Anyone could do that! These beasts are docile, held too long by a weak excuse of a Targaryen." 'Aegon' spat back at Jon and Daenerys as he strode forward from where he had been standing to approach the temporarily tamed dragons. Viserion turned his head sharply to narrow his eyes at 'Aegon', snapping his jaws in a warning fashion to stay away.

"Stop!" Daenerys exclaimed to 'Aegon', for she could already see her dragons beginning to tense and coil dangerously, but the false dragon paid her no heed, and continued to stride forward confidently.

" _Zaldrīzes! Māzigon!"_ 'Aegon' screamed, ordering the dragons to come to him, only to have Rhaegal, the green dragon that Daenerys had named in honor of eldest fallen brother, rise up to his full height and tower over 'Aegon'. The false prince, to his credit, faltered and stared up at the dangerous beast in momentary fear, in momentary respect that came far too late. Rhaegal parted his jaws, taking a hissing breath as he did so. 'Aegon' raised a hand to shield his face from the building heat that escaped Rhaegal's jaws, he brought his arm further up as ash and cinder began to flood past him in a gale of blistering hot wind that burned the tunic from his body. After the tunic, 'Aegon' opened his eyes to see that fire was all he saw. Fire from Rhaegal's throat to his burning extremities. His skin blistered and cracked, his hair sizzled instantly, and his scream lasted for less than two seconds before his lips melted and the Pisswater Prince was naught but ash.


	28. Chapter 28 - An Alliance from Ashes

'Aegon Targaryen' turned from flesh to bone to dust, his life being snuffed out so quickly that some of the men who blinked missed the entire horrific event that was seared into the memories of those who had witnessed it.

Nothing seemed to happen for a long, tense moment until Jon Connington unleashed an almighty bellow of grief, crumbing to his knees and clutching his face in horror. The Unsullied surrounding him bared their spears to his neck at Ser Jorah Mormont's orders. It was the rattling of chains and a scream from the Queen that caused the party standing at the heavy iron doors of the dragon pit to whip around and see the taunted dragons approaching Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Stark with slitted eyes whilst snapping their monstrous jaws.

Jon Stark instinctively stepped in front of his aunt protectively, and without any forethought, and with little desire to actually do so…Jon reached out with his mind the way that Bran had taught him. The connection to Rhaegal was tangible to Jon, whose blood was a fusion of the skinchanging abilities of House Stark and the dragonlord's powers of House Targaryen; one moment Jon was standing in front of Daenerys, the next he was watching himself crumble to the ground from Rhaegal's own bright bronze eyes. The dragon was angry and stunned to find it's mind being invaded by Jon, and fought back against him. An internal struggle ensued as the dragon stopped in its tracks and began to twitch and jerk its scaly head.

Viserion however moved past the frozen Rhaegal to snap his fangs angrily at Daenerys who kneeled on the stone ground as she cradled an unconscious Jon Stark's body.

"Viserion! No!" Daenerys called, only to have the dragon begin to raise its wings and open its jaws.

"NO!" Brandon Stark shouted, rolling himself forward with all haste, his stronger skinchanging powers locking into Viserion's mind at once. Bran's chair rolled forward as his head slumped back and his eyes rolled up. Viserion froze, his fire caught in his throat as Bran's strong mental presence fought for dominance. Daenerys and the large group behind her watched in amazement as Rhaegal started to move again, clearly docile once more. Rhaegal's bright bronze eyes blinked at Daenerys, before the green and bronze scaled dragon settled down on its haunches. Jon Stark sat up abruptly with a great gasp, grasping his chest uncertainly as he looked around the pit wildly for a moment.

Viserion soon mimicked Rhaegal's actions exactly. Where Rhaegal's eyes were bronze, Viserion stared back at Daenerys with gentle eyes of molten gold. Viserion's scales were pure cream and shined even in the dim torchlight of the chamber just as Rhaegal's scaled glittered like jade. Brandon Stark's head jerked upward, his face covered in a sheen of sweat as he panted heavily.

Robb Stark, who had run forward as soon as his little brother had rolled past him, stared in amazement between Jon and Bran.

"What did-…?"

"What in all the Seven fucking Hells just bloody happened?!" Smalljon Umber's crass exclamation came from behind them all, followed shortly by Dacey Mormont's hand connecting with the back of his head.

"I-…I didn't…I don't-I don't know…" Jon Stark said first, rising to his feet shakily. He looked uncertainly from Daenerys who held his arm and aided him in rising, to Robb and Bran who were a few feet away. Bran's throat was painfully dry as he swallowed and tried to speak.

"I…I don't wish to make any assumptions…but I believe the dragons are now…bonded." Bran said most reluctantly to Daenerys Targaryen whose eyes widened.

"What happened?" Daenerys demanded, her voice slightly strained as she looked from Brandon Stark to Rhaegal and Viserion.

"This wasn't our intention, Queen Daenerys. You must know this…the dragons-…they were about to attack. I had no idea this would happen." Bran said, rolling his chair forward as Robb followed behind him uncertainly. The King of Westeros kept a wary hand on his blade as he eyed the dragons.

"I know. You tried to save me." Daenerys said hesitantly to Jon.

"You're my family. And I was raised to protect my family. I think Bran is right. I don't know what happened, but I reached out to Rhaegal, he knows his name by the way." Jon said, causing Daenerys to part her lips slightly before he continued "I saw everything. I know him now. And he loves you, but he feels betrayed. He doesn't know why he's in chains and why you don't keep him close to you anymore. I don't know how, but he-…he likes me. He listened to me." Jon looked back to Rhaegal as Daenerys's heart broke hearing her dragon's unspoken feelings.

"Viserion feels the same way…" Bran said quietly, causing Daenerys to whip around and begin walking towards the chained creatures.

"It was-…it was Drogon. He killed a girl, I had no choice-…" Daenerys said, her voice breaking slightly as she approached them hesitantly to run her hands affectionately against their scaly heads. If dragons could purr, that would be what the two dragons did as they nuzzled their large heads closer to Daenerys's hands. The Queen of Meereen resolved at that moment to release them, removing their collars as soon as she did so. The dragons both reared up on their hind legs to stretch their wings and necks.

"Clear the way. They must be free." Daenerys ordered at once before looking to Bran and Jon.

"If you say that they are bonded to you now, then I wish to understand this power. I wish to find Drogon. Will you help me?" she asked them. Bran, Jon and Robb all exchanged glances before the Stark brothers looked back at her to chorus their answer.

"Yes."

* * *

Jon Connington had been rendered temporarily catatonic after watching his ward burned to ash, but Robb Stark had counseled Daenerys Targaryen to lock the man away all the same. The gruesomely long day in Meereen did not end there. Robb, Jon Stark, Brandon Stark, Jojen and Meera Reed, Dacey Mormont, Smalljon Umber, Tyrion Lannister, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Raynald Westerling stood in the Great Pyramid's war room across from Daenerys Targaryen, Daario Naharis, Ser Jorah Mormont, Grey-Worm, Homeless Harry Strickland, Brown Ben Plumm and Missandei.

"It will take us under two moons to sail back to Westeros in _The Howl_. I bloody love that ship." Smalljon Umber reported, before clearing his throat and looking away uncomfortably as everyone turned their gazes to him.

"I was just starting to get my land legs back again." Tyrion Lannister quipped.

"We're not leaving. Not yet. We go as one." King Robb declared.

"I am not sure that is necessary. You say that your Queen needs you in Westeros. You say Westeros must prepare its defenses. You are its King, you should return at once aboard your ship." Daenerys proposed, looking from Robb to Bran and Jon.

"And how will you get to Westeros?" Robb asked skeptically.

"She will fly. And Jon and I will fly with her." Brandon Stark spoke up, with Robb turning his head sharply to look at his brother.

"Aye. Bran's right. We have forged an alliance today. _With fire and blood_." Jon said, looking to Daenerys pointedly before continuing "But _winter is coming_. Westeros needs you Robb. I bonded with Rhaegal…he will listen to me. Even now…I can feel him flying above us. I will fly back. Daenerys needs Drogon, Bran and I are the only ones who can help her find him. As your Hand…as your _brother_ I counsel you to return to Westeros. Our mission here is done." Jon said, placing a hand on Robb's shoulder.

"And how do you propose to ride a dragon, my little lord? You are a Stark. All Stark, not like Jon." Robb asked, turning his head to look at Bran beside him.

"But Viserion still bonded to him. I saw it." Daenerys said, smiling at Bran when he looked to her. "Though I must admit I still have concern on leaving Meereen."

"You need not concern yourself with that, my Queen. We will hold the city in your name." Brown Ben Plumm said confidently, earning wide-eyed, disbelieving gazes from Daario Naharis, Grey-Worm and Homeless Harry Strickland.

"Why would the people of Meereen listen to a sellsword? A sellsword that barely speaks the language?" Daario asked of his Captain, only to have Brown Ben mumble something incoherently in response.

"My Queen, Unsullied hold city in your name." Grey-Worm declared in the Common Tongue that he was slowly learning from Missandei.

"Now that will go down far better. But the Unsullied themselves will never be able to rule the city with force alone. With their steel there must come a gentle compassion. Missandei should join Grey-Worm in ruling Meereen in the Queen's name." Daario Naharis suggested, placing his hands on his sword belt.

"The Commander of the Unsullied and your closest companion. Their words would have weight with the people." Robb mused.

"Compassion and steel can be easily overrun. This is a city of rats. The politics of Meereen are enough to make even your head spin, my Lord of the Seven Kingdoms." Brown Ben Plumm said gruffly to Robb. This brought a moment of silence to the chambers.

"I will stay." Came a voice nobody expected. Tyrion Lannister looked from Robb Stark to Daenerys Targaryen.

"I will stay behind with Jon and Brandon. I will aid Grey-Worm and Missandei in bringing order to Meereen."

"Forgive me, but why would I allow that?" Daenerys asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Or I? I need you in Westeros."

"Forgive _me_ , Your Graces, but King Robb…I was never going to lead the Westerlands into battle. We both know this. My power as Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West will forever be yours; the West will rise for you. I promised that." Tyrion said, simmering Robb Stark down first before turning to the Mother of Dragons "As for why you would allow this, Queen Daenerys, I ruled one of the most corrupt and chaotic cities in the Known World whilst I had three different armies marching onto us, and a rebellion within the walls. I kept King's Landing standing when King Robb arrived to take it. I kept it standing when Joffrey almost led to a riot that burned the city to ashes. A grand old city is Meereen, not unlike King's Landing. I will serve here until order is brought. I will remain unseen and counsel Missandei and Grey-Worm from the shadows. I will keep your city standing while you go to Westeros."

"I will remain too, Khaleesi." Ser Jorah offered after a long moment of silence followed Tyrion Lannister's proposal.

"No. You are my closest friend and my most trusted guard. I would wish you to accompany me. And you Daario." Daenerys said, before turning her head back to look at the Westerosi group.

"Very well. Lannister. I accept, you will remain in Meereen to counsel them. Ser Strickland, will the Golden Company serve House Targaryen?"

"With their last breaths, Your Grace."

"Then I charge you to aid the Second Sons, the Unsullied and the Brazen Beasts in defending my city from belligerents. Serve me well and I will grant you a lordship in my court."

"To serve the dragon would suffice, my Queen." Harry Strickland said in an attempt at courtesy, his eyes lighting up with desire at the word of lordship.

"And I'm supposed to sail away, leaving my brothers and one of my most valued counselors behind in a foreign land? How am I to be assured that you will join us?"

"Because if this alliance between us is to survive, you must trust me as much as I trust you Robb Stark." Daenerys said with her shoulders squared. Robb held her gaze for a long moment before he nodded. Robb took a step forward to place his hands on the stone table between their two parties. He leaned in to speak.

"Jon's earlier words were true. Winter is truly coming, and the Long Night with it."

"Then together we still stop this. The dragon and the direwolf." Daenerys countered, after having walked forward to mimic Robb's actions.

"Dacey. Smalljon. Prepare the fleet to set sail at dawn." Robb said, holding Daenerys Targaryen's violet gaze with his own vivid blue. "We're going home." Robb straightened up as a smiling Dacey Mormont and Smalljon Umber nodded.

"I ask that you take Ser Jorah, Daario Naharis and a number of my Unsullied with you. I wish to have a personal guard in Westeros, and I doubt I will be able to fit them all on Drogon's back."

"Very well. So long as Jorah Mormont understands he returns to Westeros as an exiled knight and nothing more. Bear Island belongs to Lady Maege and her daughters." Robb said sternly, his gaze shifting to Jorah as Daenerys's briefly moved over to Bran. Where Jorah glowered back at Robb before nodding his acceptance of these terms, Bran blushed slightly as Dany gave him a brief smile.

* * *

Ever since they'd arrived in Meereen Robb had had this feeling of being watched, of being scrutinized. He'd hear small footsteps, soft shuffling, and once he swore he heard a giggle when he and Ser Barristan had simultaneously turned around to see that no-one was behind them. It had disconcerted the Young Wolf greatly, until he realized who was watching him. As night began to fall in Meereen, Robb took a "solitary" walk in the terrace gardens of the Great Pyramid. Ser Barristan and a dozen Stark soldiers were discreetly hidden around the area should Robb be in danger. The Wolf King stopped to clasp his hands behind his back. He admired the view from this terrace for a moment, he admired the orange glow of the setting sun and the pinpricks of firelight he could see down in the city below. It reminded him of his own city.

"Lord Varys sent you didn't he?" Robb called out loudly, still looking out at the view. Nothing happened, not a sound nor a movement.

"I have a message for him. And gold for you." Robb need not say anymore, for he turned around to see two small, impoverished children. By the tan lines around their throats, Robb judged that they were recently released freedmen. One was a boy barely older than Rickon, the other was a girl who was approaching womanhood. Both were lithe and agile, Robb could see. The perfect "little birds".

"Who do you serve?" Robb inquired to the children as he kneeled down to be at their level. The children exchanged an uncertain glance.

"It's alright. Do you know who I am?" he asked them slowly. They exchanged another glance before the girl boldly nodded her head.

"You are King Robb of Westeros. The Spider, our Lord Varys…he serves you." The girl said. Robb could have mistaken her accent for Dornish, but by her features he judged her to be a Lorathian.

"That's right." Robb said with a gentle smile, before offering them both two round, thick golden coins that they both snatched away eagerly. The boy put his coin between his teeth to test its validity before looking back to Robb with his eyes shining gratefully.

"I have a message for the Spider. I need him to receive this at once, can you ensure it gets to him?" Robb asked, holding up a sealed scroll. The children nodded at once. Robb smiled and handed the girl the scroll.

"Open your hands and close your eyes." The young King said with a smile, waiting for the children to listen before he filled their small palms with golden coins.

* * *

"Bran? Its Robb." Bran and Jojen both looked up at the door of their chambers, before the Lord of Winterfell rolled himself forward.

"Come in." he called.

"I wanted to talk to you before I leave tomorrow. Jojen, would you mind-…?"

"Not at all, Your Grace. Pardon me." Jojen said with a humble bow before he darted behind Robb to leave the two sons of Ned Stark alone.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Robb finally asked after the brothers gazed at each other for a while.

"There's no choice, Robb. She needs us. She needs our help."

"She needs you?" Robb asked as he walked around the chambers to observe them. He picked up a bronze Myrish far-eye that was lying on a side table to roll it in his hands as Bran watched him. "Are you sure it's not something else that compels you to stay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm your older brother, Bran. If you can't talk to me about these things, then you can't talk to anyone. Plus Jon's an idiot."

"You're the idiot." Came Jon's voice followed by the sound of the door closing behind him. "Can't even approach him about it right. Do you really think he wants his royal brother to give him woman advice?"

"Well seeing as you're prettier than half the women in Meereen, you think you can offer some insight? Didn't your cock freeze off at the Wall?"

"How did you manage to get Margaery pregnant when-."

"Enough! Gods be good, you both are still same aren't you? Doesn't matter if there's a crown on your head or a badge on your chest…" Bran exclaimed, cutting off Robb and Jon from their teasing banter. The elder Starks merely grinned and rolled their eyes.

"We were just playing around Bran. We both love you, that's why we're here." Robb said dragging a chair to sit by Bran so he could place his arm around him.

"You like Daenerys Targaryen don't you?" Robb asked quietly, causing Bran to blush bright red.

"Do you, Bran?" Jon asked, dragging a chair to sit on Bran's other side.

"I-…why-…this-…I don't-!" Bran stammered, looking angrily from Jon to Robb.

"Calm down, little brother. You think Jon and I haven't liked our fair share of girls?"

"Some of us _more_ than our fair share…" Jon muttered, before Robb slapped the back of his head.

"The point is…you _can_ talk to us about it." Robb said, glowering at Jon for a moment before looking back to Bran with a reassuring smile.

"Its stupid…" the young Bran said quietly, letting his gaze fall to his lap.

"It's not stupid, Bran. _Do_ you like her? She's beautiful isn't she?" Jon prompted, squeezing Bran's shoulder supportively.

"Not just beautiful. _Strong_ …smart…kind…courageous…" Bran murmured to himself as Jon and Robb exchanged a smile behind him.

"But I can never be with a woman. I can't even stand…"

"Bran…you do not need to stand to be loved. I daresay she likes you as well, do you know why? Because _you_ are strong, Brandon Stark. You are kind, you are courageous." Jon said, tapping Bran's chest gently.

"You moved forward to take control of that dragon today, and you can be damned certain she knows it. Your worth as a man is not measured by how tall you are, Bran. Father would have said that to you if he was here. Your worth as a man is measured by what you do. You have done things that men with working legs could not dream of. You crossed the Wall, you sailed across the Narrow Sea past the Valyrian Peninsula. You met the Children of the Forest and the Mother of Dragons. You're not a boy anymore, Bran." Robb said.

"You're a man. And a great one at that." Jon smiled. Bran blushed slightly from his brother's praise and their belief in him. He offered them both small smiles before sighing once more.

"I'm no fool. I know that when these relationships require a bedding, and if some way she was ever interested in me in that regard, I should require my legs." Bran said, avoiding his brother's eyes. Robb and Jon both felt slightly awkward, with Jon raising a fist cover his mouth as he coughed and Robb scratching the back of his neck.

"Er-…" Jon tried.

"Its-..um-…its not as-…its not as simple as all that, Bran. Trust me…the way that Maester Luwin and Septa used to teach us about sex. Its not that way at all."

"There are-…many ways to have a bedding, little brother. Your legs are not as essential as another part of you if it should ever come to…bedding her." Jon said, blushing slightly.

"Its um-…it's….do you still…" Robb tried, turning even redder than Jon for a moment before rolling his eyes to lean in and whisper in Bran's ears.

"WHAT?! Gods! Robb! What kind of question is that?!" Bran exclaimed, recoiling away from his brother in disgust for a moment.

"Its just a question! If you still _do_ happen to have a little morning steel it's a good thing-!"

"Robb!" Bran exclaimed again, looking to Jon for backup.

"He's right, Bran."

"You both are sick. Yes. Alright? Yes, I still get… _morning steel_." Bran said derisively.

"Then bedding her should not be your concern should it ever happen, alright? You must have confidence, Bran. If she likes you…do not push her away." Robb said, patting his brother's back encouragingly.

* * *

" _Morning steel_? Where do you come up with this shite?" Jon asked with a laugh as he sat back from refilling Robb's goblet of wine.

"This Meereense wine is bloody awful." Robb burped before taking another sip.

"You don't have to drink it." Jon pointed out with a laugh.

"The bloody hell I don't. Pass that jug here, oh noble dragonlord." Robb said with a slight slur as Jon rolled his eyes.

"I still cannot believe what has happened today." He said, rubbing his brow.

"Aye. It beggars belief, in truth." Robb sighed as he sat back in his chair. The two men were sitting on the private balcony of the guest chambers that they shared, looking out at navy blue sky that sparkled with millions of stars. "I'm not comfortable leaving you here."

"She's my family, Robb. She hugged me today. She's on our side. She's a good person." Jon insisted.

"Because a hug instantly expresses a person's trustworthiness."

"Would she have touched me when we first made anchor here? Come on, brother. Don't be so paranoid, it will eat you alive."

"Aye. Aye…" Robb murmured bringing his goblet back up to his lips.

"Did you find Varys's little birds?"

"I did. At least I hope I did. Since we came here I haven't been able to warg into Grey-Wind again. I have no idea if she's alright."

"You saw Margaery a few days ago, Robb. She will be fine. I know it."

"And what of your paramour, my Lord Hand?"

"Arianne? I'm bloody pissed at her. Sneaking Quentyn onto our fleet without so much as a word of warning to me? She manipulated me, I think."

"I doubt that. Margaery thinks Arianne's infatuated with you."

"I don't want infatuation." Jon muttered bitterly. "Besides, with her reputation I wouldn't be surprised if she'd found someone to fill the void whilst I am away."

"Fill the void? Is that what you two call it?"

"Shut up, Robb."

"I'm only joking, brother. If she truly has found affection in another man's arms then she was never meant for you. You deserve not a good woman, Jon Stark, but a _great_ one."

"And here's to the great woman waiting for you back home, Robb." Jon said with an appreciative smile, raising his goblet to clink against Robb's.

"Look after Bran." Robb said a little while later after a comfortable silence had fallen between them.

"Of course."

* * *

"I shall not say goodbye, Queen Daenerys." Robb said.

"No, for it isn't a goodbye, King Robb. I shall see you soon. In Westeros." Daenerys smiled. The majority of Robb's naval fleet had already begun to sail away in the early hours of the morning, with a few supply ships straggling in the harbor still along with _The Howl_. Daenerys Targaryen stood with Jon Stark, Bran Stark, Tyrion Lannister, Grey-Worm and Missandei beside her whilst Robb stood with Ser Barristan, Smalljon Umber, Jojen Reed, Jorah Mormont and Daario Naharis facing them, their backs to _The Howl_.

"In Westeros then." Robb smiled, extending his hand to Daenerys who moved past it to hug Robb gratefully.

"I hope our alliance continues to the bitter end." She said, pulling away from him.

"As do I." Robb smiled, before looking to the companions he was leaving behind.

"Lord Tyrion, I hope you know that you will be missed my lord. And it is my greatest wish for you to return to Westeros as soon as possible." Robb said sincerely to the Lord of Lannister, who himself pursed his lips slightly.

"You are a good man, King Robb. And I promise you that when this city is settled, I will return to my home." Tyrion extended his hand to Robb who shook it friendlily.

"Jon, hurry home or I shall castrate you upon your return."

"Such an incentive." Jon teased with a grin before hugging Robb tightly. "I'll meet you there, Robb." He promised.

"Bran. You're a man now. Remember that." Robb said quietly to his brother as they hugged before he stepped away to place a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Sail safe, Robb." Bran smiled back up at him.

"Khaleesi…when will you come?" Ser Jorah asked Daenerys as Robb said his goodbyes.

"As soon as Drogon is returned to me, Jorah. Brandon will teach me how to control him, and then we will fly together. The dragons flying should take even less time to reach Westeros than _The Howl_. I might even be there before you arrive." Daenerys said with a smile to her most trusted friend.

"I need you to be there by my side. I don't know Westeros, I've never known Westeros except for what you have told me. I need you there, Jorah."

"Aye, Khaleesi. Aye." Jorah said with a bow of his head, before he turned on his heel to march into the ship.

"Ben and Harry are yours, my Queen. They know that if they try to cross you, Daario Naharis will hunt them down." Daario promised to his Queen after he rose from a flamboyant bow.

"Your loyalty will never be forgotten, Daario. Thank you." Dany smiled, kissing his cheek before Daario too turned to board the ship. Robb, Daenerys, Jon, Tyrion and Bran exchanged final looks before Robb too turned on his heel to march up the plank onto the deck of his ship.

"Full sails, Lady Mormont. Get us the hell out of Slaver's Bay." Robb said as he stood on the bridge ahead of the helm and the ship's wheel where Dacey was controlling the vessel's course.

"All hands, full sail! We're going home, lads!" Dacey called to cheers from the gathered soldiers and sailors aboard the royal flagship of House Stark.


	29. Chapter 29 - Howling Storm

King's Landing was a sprawling mass of golden flickering lights against a deep blue sky. The sky was clear for once, and a million stars surrounded the bright full moon. Lord Varys amused himself for several minutes with thoughts of opening the slightly torn and crumpled scroll that sat on his table in front of him. It was sealed with a grey wax stamp of a fierce crowned direwolf's head; King Robb's seal.

In the Young Wolf's own hand was written a single word: _Margaery_.

Had it been the days of Joffrey or Robert Baratheon, or even Aerys Targaryen, Varys would have ripped open the scroll without a moment's delay. With the Starks…the Spider was more cautious, more respectful. It was a mark of how much faith the eunuch had in the dynasty he served, when he walked down the upper corridors of Maegor's Holdfast towards the royal bedchambers with the scroll still sealed in his hands. Ser Loras Tyrell, Queen Margaery's brother and staunch Kingsguard protector, stood guard outside the doors with five of the best Grey Cloaks in the city.

"Good evening, Ser Loras." Varys smiled.

"Lord Varys." Loras responded slightly stiffly still somewhat distrustful of the Spider even after his time in the capital. "My sister is sleeping."

"I thought as much, good ser. But the Queen did order me to come to her at once when I received any word of our dear King." Varys tittered with a slight smirk as he raised the scroll for Loras to see Robb's seal. The Knight of Flowers widened his eyes for a moment before turning on his heel to knock on Margaery's chamber doors.

" _What_?" came a weary call from the other side after a moment or two.

"Margaery, its Lord Varys. He has word on the King." Loras called through the door, glancing over his shoulder uncertainly at the Master of Whisperers.

" _Send him in_." came Margaery's instant response. Varys walked in to see Margaery sitting up in the royal four-poster bed, probably a month or two away from giving birth. The Queen still managed to look beautiful with her hair tousled and eyes bleary from sleep. Grey-Wind perked his head up from where he was lying curled up beside Margaery on the bed.

"What word, my lord?" Margaery asked at once.

"I had not opened the scroll yet, Your Grace. I believe it was intended for someone else." Varys smiled, handing her the parchment. Margaery looked confused for a moment before her golden brown gaze fell onto her own handwritten name. The corners of the Queen's lips tugged upward slightly before she broke the grey wax to read her husband's letter.

 _My love,_

 _I hope this letter finds you in prime health, and selfishly I also hope I have not missed the birth of our children._

 _All has gone to plan. Daenerys Targaryen is allied with us; Jon, Bran and Lord Tyrion Lannister remain behind to help her in bringing her dragons. I sail on the dawn for home. I sail for you._

 _I have missed you more than I can convey in this small roll of parchment. I love you, Margaery. I will be home as soon as I can, by the graces of the Gods and the powers of the wind I will be home._

 _Your loving husband,_

 _Robb_

"He's coming home." Margaery beamed, looking back up to see that Varys and Loras were waiting for her to say something. For a rare moment Loras and Varys adopted the same relieved smile, before glancing at each other. Loras wiped his smile away quickly, unwilling to share a moment of joy with the Spider. Varys merely sighed internally and turned his attention back to the Queen who rubbed her stomach in gentle circles as she reread her husband's letter.

By the next day the Small Council was gathered and word of Robb's letter was making its way through the city. The King's success in Essos and his promise of return seemed to bring a renewed spirit to the people, and even in the chambers of the Council smiles were abound.

"It is a historic occasion, my Queen. King Robb's reign so far has been enough to have the Citadel scrambling to record it all down." Grand Maester Rickard said with a touch of pride in his voice.

"Let us not claim my husband a legend just yet, my lords. He still lives, and a greater fight awaits him. Awaits us all." Margaery said diplomatically from the head of the table. Her councilors nodded to her in agreement.

"Word from Garlan also came this morning, Margaery. It has been a blessed day. Lord Blackfish and our brother split their forces to comb through the lands. Their plan was for Garlan to approach from the south and Lord Brynden to come from the north. They met with many grievances on their campaign, the country was still bordering on lawlessness after the war. Lord Brynden and Garlan both individually chose to stamp out the fires in King Robb's name. They have been very busy and did not have time to send word until now." Willas Tyrell, Margaery's eldest brother said.

"What happened?"

"As Lord Varys reported, the presence of the army and the direwolf flag has only doubled the people's love for Robb and House Stark. The people did not need prompting to come forward after a time. Garlan's forces found a splinter camp of Jaime Lannister's men camped in a wood near the Antlers and put dozens to the sword. Four of their officers have been taken hostage and Garlan is assured that they will have Jaime Lannister soon."

"No." Margaery said after a moment, causing everyone to look up to her in surprise. "Tell Garlan not to engage Jaime Lannister directly. That would be exactly what he wants. If the Kingslayer is going to hide in the woods, then we will use that to our advantage. Brother, I want you to have word reach Garlan and Lord Brynden at once, they are to bleed Jaime Lannister's forces. He can only have but a few hundred men, let us needle at him until he is desperate once again. A desperate man will make many mistakes."

"Very shrewd, Your Grace. I will see to it at once."

"Good. The last matter for the day, I wish for a token force to sail to the Stepstones to await Robb as an escort. Will you see to it, Lord Davos?"

"A-at once, Your Grace. A primetime for the maiden voyage of _Lord Eddard's Honor_."

"Agreed." Margaery smiled.

* * *

A vicious clap of thunder followed a flash of lightning that illuminated the sky as far as the eye could see. _The Howl_ crashed over a wave that was at least thirty feet high before falling back onto the rough seas. Rain lashed the crew from above whilst seawater flooded onto the decks with every other wave. The storm had captured the royal vessel unawares in the early morning, and by the time most of the crew had awoken it had been too late to change their course.

"HEAVE TO!" Lady Dacey Mormont screamed for the second time as she held onto the ship's wheel with all her might, her long, dark hair was plastered to her head from the torrential rain. The rest of the royal fleet were scattered behind _The Howl_ , the storm having broken the organized formation that the ships had been sailing in. Robb Stark, King of Westeros, worked with his sailors to assist Lady Mormont in securing the storm jib of their ship. Another large wave washed over the bannisters of the deck, sweeping several sailors off their feet. Including Robb. The Wolf King rose back to his feet shakily, his dark, thick locks as equally drenched as the light tunic he wore. Gritting his teeth in anger, Robb strode off the deck onto the bridge.

"WE NEED TO PUSH THROUGH!" Robb roared over the screaming winds and cacophonous rain. Dacey turned her head over her shoulder, giving her friend a desperate gaze.

"IT'S A FOOL'S MISSION! THE SHIP CAN'T TAKE IT!"

"WE CAN'T JUST SIT BELOW DECK! WE _HAVE_ TO RUN HER DOWNWIND!" Robb pushed his dripping fringe off his forehead to look at Dacey intently.

"Run her off." Robb said again, for Dacey to take a deep breath and close her eyes.

"SECURE THE MAINSAIL AT 90 DEGREES! ALL HANDS PREPARE FOR A DEAD RUN!" Dacey's words caused a palpable fear to run through the sailors before Robb moved forward.

"FOR WESTEROS!" Robb roared, raising his fist toward the storm clouds above. The men chorused a hearty bellow of agreement before following their orders, the sail was secured and the wind moved directly behind the vessel. Dacey stayed at the helm, with Robb moving to stand beside her as the ship was propelled forward at speed. Another clap of thunder exploded from above them, causing some of the sailors to cry out in fear as a bolt of lightning struck the sea not four leagues away from _The Howl_. The ship crashed over another wave, with the bow of the ship vanishing beneath the sea for a moment until they leveled out once more. Waters flooded the decks, washing men off their feet without prejudice. The force of the crash had knocked Dacey off her feet and the ship's wheel spun around and around, causing the ship to begin to turn dangerously. Robb, who had also fallen, was on his knees and trying to assist Dacey in getting up when they heard someone grab the wheel from behind them. Ser Jorah Mormont gritted his teeth before retaking control of _The Howl_ with great might. Dacey and Robb merely watched him speechlessly as he single-handedly steered the ship to safety.

* * *

A moon's turn might have passed since the Westerosi fleet had departed Meereen, and whilst their plans had been made with optimism and good intentions, little progress had been made in regards to forging a bond between Daenerys Targaryen and her missing dragon. Jon Stark, who had tamed and connected with the dragon Rhaegal, took to the skies every day to search for Drogon whilst Bran remained behind in an attempt to teach Daenerys how to harness her dragonlord powers.

Leaps and bounds had been made in improving the lives of Daenerys's people, with the Mother of Dragons having taken Robb Stark's offhanded advice to heart and pledging to put her people back to work for themselves. Tyrion Lannister's counsel and wisdom had surprised her, the Halfman had a natural skill for rule that was complemented by his vast intelligence. It was with his strategic assistance that Daenerys sent her soldiers past the walls of the city to reclaim territory that had fallen to waste since Dany's siege. When her perimeters and boundaries were restored and her lines fortified, Tyrion Lannister designed plans on where to establish self-reliant villages for the hundreds upon thousands of freedmen who followed her. Slowly but surely Meereen began to feel less overpopulated, the land was slowly returning to fertility and service professions were being restored. Where the people had once worshipped Daenerys as their savior, they now also loved her beyond all doubt. She gave them new purpose, she gave them lives and freedom. She was their _Mhysa_.

As for the internal rebellions, the Sons of the Harpy renewed their brazen displays against Queen Daenerys as soon as the Stark forces departed, which meant that the Golden Company soon joined the task of reigning control within the city. It took Hizdahr zo Loraq's incessant pleading and Tyrion Lannister's counsel to get Daenerys where she was at that moment; standing on her balcony looking out at the fighting pits of Meereen.

"You asked for me, Your Grace?" came a voice from inside her chambers. Dany smiled slightly, turning on her heel to walk in and see Brandon Stark rolling himself quite independently into her private quarters. She marveled at how this young man took so quickly to this foreign place. Brandon was not like his brothers. He was not a bold, fearless leader like Robb, nor was he a quiet, brooding warrior like Jon. Brandon was something else entirely that she could not figure out. It was not that he could not lead, for she had witnessed him do so in their first meeting. And it was not that he could not fight, for she had seen him roll forward to protect Jon and herself from Viserion without a thought for himself first. For a girl who had grown up with warriors, knights, Princes and Khals, talking with a young man like Brandon who was sweet, kind and compassionate was an original experience for her. She liked talking to him, and remained blissfully unaware of the innocent affection that Brandon had formed for her over his time in Meereen.

"I did, I hope you weren't busy?" she said as she sat down across from him in a chair.

"No, no. Lord Tyrion and I had actually just concluded a meeting with one of the freed blacksmiths and stablemen. The harness that shall be fitted on Viserion for my flight is almost concluded, it needs only a few adjustments."

"I should look forward to seeing you take to the skies, Bran. I know it is a deep wish of yours."

"As I know finding Drogon is yours, my Queen."

"Now, how many times must I tell you to call me Dany when we are alone?"

"Only the once, Dany. As always." Bran smiled, his cheeks tinting slightly pink.

"Has Jon returned from his flight today?"

"Not yet, but I have been spending some time with Viserion today and I have been trying to understand the language between the dragons. In close proximity, they seem to almost be able to read each other's thoughts…but further away, they must unleash their voices. I wonder if we could begin to train Viserion and Rhaegal to begin calling out to Drogon in their own tongue."

"I am sure it would not be impossible, we have already taught them so much in such a short time."

"You taught them more before we ever got here, don't kid yourself." Bran said rolling himself forward slightly.

"You're sweet. And you're the only one I can really talk to. The noble families of Meereen want me to reopen the fighting pits. Your friend Tyrion thinks I should do the same. I don't-…I can't. Watching men kill each other is not an idea of sport to me."

"No. I can understand why. But even in Westeros this happens. Perhaps not slaves fighting each other, but in tournaments…they can get very bloody. One can never hope to change the nature of their citizen, the best thing and the _right_ thing to do is to nurture them. They will always want to see men fight. Have it happen on your terms, Dany." Bran encouraged of the silver-haired Queen who let her gaze fall to her lap for a moment before she sighed and nodded.

* * *

The crew were exhausted, none more so than Lady Dacey, who had to be practically carried by Smalljon Umber to the Captain's Cabin where she could rest. Robb, weary as he was, gave the order for the crew to go below deck. He kept only a few of the more energetic sailors to help him and Ser Jorah Mormont guide _The Howl_ to the safer shores of Lys. The storm had faded away, leaving behind only a miserable sky. _The Howl_ had survived with little actual damage to the hull or sails, the rest of the fleet remained anchored dozens of leagues behind them to wait out the storm in their older vessels.

"I didn't know you were a sailor." Robb commented, breaking the silence between them.

"No? Do they only say slaver in Westeros?" Jorah asked with a bemused scoff as he adjusted the wheel. "All Mormonts learn to sail, Your Grace. I taught Dacey as my own father taught me, did you know that?"

"No. I didn't. Why did you do it, Mormont? Why forsake your family, your title, your honor?" Robb asked, only to have Mormont stoically look forward for several minutes until Robb thought he wouldn't get an answer.

"You have a wife? Queen, am I right? Tyrell girl."

"Aye…" Robb said slowly.

"You love her?"

"Yes." Robb said without a moment's hesitation.

"How much?" Jorah asked, turning his gaze to Robb hardly.

"I'd die for her." Robb said after a beat. Mormont merely scoffed again.

"What would you do to keep her happy? Hm? Would you spend every last coin in the treasury? Would you fight every last sword? Would you sail to the ends of the Known World and back?" Jorah asked, only for Robb to remain silent.

"Aye. Trinkets or glory should not earn a woman's love, a lesson I learned far too late. I loved a woman. She loved glory and wealth. I was barely older than you were when I became Lord of Bear Island, and by then my wife demanded it all. I gave her everything and it nearly destroyed my House. Some of the Northmen say they do not fear death. I do. I can say that, because to fear death keeps a man alive. I did not want to die by your father's sword, but I recognized my mistakes. I left my lands, I left my titles and the last thing of value to me; _Longclaw_. And now your brother wears it around his hip."

"Your own father gave it to him."

"For a deed I know not of. One I shall ask my father about if the Gods give me the blessings to see him again." Jorah said, only for Robb to fall very silent.

"Ser Jorah…" Robb began, his use of Jorah's title as a knight causing the old knight to sharply look over his shoulder at Robb "Your father…do you-…do you not know?" Robb asked hesitantly.

"Not know what?" Jorah demanded, his brow furrowing as his heart seized in his chest.

"Your father…he was-…your father is dead." Robb said regretfully. Jorah Mormont merely stared at Robb for a moment before turning his head back to look out over the wheel. There was a thick, awkward silence between them for several more minutes until Jorah spoke up.

"We are approaching Lys."

"Alright. Head for a port, we shall make anchor and await the rest of the fleet before making for the Stepstones." Robb said, walking off the bridge. The Young Wolf was unaware of a personal grievance that awaited Jorah Mormont in the Free City renowned for its pleasure, and its poison.


	30. Chapter 30 - A Dance of Dragons

Jon exhaled a breath after he pulled on his riding gauntlets. Thick leather gloves they were, padded on the inside in sheep's wool that had been coated in a chemical that the alchemists of Meereen claimed lessened the heat that radiated off the dragon's bodies. The dark-haired son of Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna made his way through the Great Pyramid of Meereen in the early hours, when only the Unsullied were awake and on guard. Jon had developed a profound respect for the eunuch warriors, particularly their commander Grey-Worm, who had impressed Jon Stark with his fierce skill in battle and his stoic, firm leadership.

When the Hand of the King of Westeros stepped out onto the highest terrace garden of the Great Pyramid, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, its golden rays breaking through the deep blue of the night. Jon had watched many sunrises here in Essos, the only reason being that the young man rose from his sleep as soon as he could to visit Rhaegal and Viserion in their new home atop the Pyramids. Since the dragons had bonded to he and Bran, they had been far easier to control, so much so that they only left the city when Bran and Jon allowed them to.

Rhaegal was curled into a jade and bronze ball that glittered in the rising sunlight, only raising his massive scaly head when he sensed that Jon was close. The great dragon blinked his shining eyes sleepily at Jon before uncurling himself to stretch his long, lean body. Rhaegal's wings unfurled, stretching wide across the terrace for Jon to marvel at, as he always did. Though Rhaegal was not wearing a proper saddle yet, Jon still managed to climb up to take a secure position on Rhaegal's back. It was a deeper relationship than that of a horse and its rider, Rhaegal was bonded to Jon's spirit just as his direwolf Ghost was. It had been an odd feeling for Jon to come to terms with at first, especially as he had felt Ghosts's uneasiness and jealousy at being forced to go away with Robb to leave Jon behind. There had been no way that Summer and Ghost could have joined them on their flight back, it had been the only logical thing to do. Though Jon still missed his white direwolf greatly.

" _Sōvegon_." Jon said as Rhaegal peered over his shoulder to blink his shining eyes at Jon passively. Rhaegal opened his fangs to unleash a soft dragon's croak in response before he began to move forward on the terrace quickly. Jon gripped Rhaegal's spiked horns to secure himself, though he knew that Rhaegal would never let him fall. The dragon leaped off the edge of the terrace garden to plummet downward for half-a-heartbeat. His great wings unfurled to catch the wind, and with a great pull Jon and Rhaegal soared upwards above the city of Meereen. Jon let out a gleeful laugh, as he always did when he took the skies, before composing himself once more.

He did not have much time to search today. After weeks of badgering from her subjects, Daenerys had decided to reopen the fighting pits of Meereen, but on her own terms. No man or woman could be forced to enter the pits, with Daenerys having appointed her own Brazen Beasts to oversee the administration of the games. Jon knew that Daenerys would not face an easy time implementing her changes in this ageless tradition that the people of Slaver's Bay so enjoyed, but he would do his utmost to help her. For he hoped that the goodwill he and Bran were inspiring would soon be enough to convince Daenerys to simply leave without Drogon. Time was not on their side, and every day they wasted here was another day that the threat of the Long Night grew stronger.

* * *

 _"STOP THIS MADNESS!"_ King Robb Stark's strong voice echoed around the extravagant receiving hall of the manse. Behind the armed and armored King of Westeros were dozens of his men, some carried the standards of House Stark of King's Landing, whilst most kept their hands on their sheathed swords. Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Raynald Westerling stood behind the Young Wolf in armors that were as pale as milk. Every single soul glared ahead at the scene before them.

Lady Dacey Mormont and Lord Commander Smalljon Umber were in the midst of a battle with the household soldiers of the Merchant Prince Tregar Ormollen; Ser Jorah Mormont was on his knees with his sword knocked from his hand whilst an enormous guard had a fat arm locked around his throat, choking the life out of him. Tregar Ormollen himself, a merchant prince of great influence in Lys, stood on a raised dais where he had been sitting upon an elaborate throne of gold and velvet.

"Noble Prince Tregar, what is the meaning of this foolishness?" Robb demanded, walking forward with his men behind him, a clear show of force. Tregar raised his hand and with a single gesture his own guards sheathed their weapons to stand at attention. A panting Smalljon Umber placed a cautionary hand on a fuming Dacey Mormont's shoulder, whilst Jorah Mormont collapsed to his knees gasping for air.

"I was hoping you would be the one to tell me, King Robb the Wolf." Tregar was a man so handsome; Robb had assumed him to be the kin of the Targaryens. His hair was as golden as the sun, and his eyes as blue as the sky. He might have been fifty-years-old, but the merchant prince still had a grace and power to him. His thick Lysene accent completed the image of a foreign authority not to be crossed. "Here I was enjoying my nightly entertainment from my concubines when this man stormed into my manse with his sword drawn." Tregar gestured to Ser Jorah as he moved to elegantly sit back on his throne. "Now…all who live in Lys know that to insult me…is death. I gave this man a warning once, many years ago. Give her up, _leave_ , and never return."

"Give _who_ up?" Robb demanded, walking closer to stand by Dacey and Smalljon.

"His _whore_ of a wife." Dacey spat, glaring venom at her cousin Jorah "I saw him from the ship sneaking off. I knew where he would go. I had no time to tell anyone but Smalljon." Dacey explained quietly to Robb as the King gritted his teeth.

"Tsk, tsk. Still so bitter after all these years, sweet Dacey?" came a sweet voice from beside Tregar. Robb turned his head to see a beautiful blond woman, who vaguely resembled an older Daenerys Targaryen, had come to sit on Tregar Ormollen's lap. Robb looked only confused, flicking his gaze from Jorah Mormont to Dacey Mormont, who both glared hate at the woman.

"King Robb, I take from your surprise you have not met my chief concubine. Lady Lynesse of House Hightower."

"Formerly. I gave up Westeros long ago." Lynesse purred as she stroked Tregar's chin.

" _Bitch_. Were it not for you, House Mormont would not bear such a stain on its honor." Dacey hissed at Lynesse, who could only smile coldly. Robb then realized who was sitting on Tregar's lap.

"Noble Tregar. For the trade alliance that we brokered months ago, for the friendship that I hope to continue between you and the Iron Throne, let us settle this matter in private. Allow me to send these two back to my ship. They are my closest friends and only sought to protect my name." Robb said, glancing briefly to Smalljon and Dacey.

"The girl's tongue is loose and sharp. I like not what she says about my Lynesse." Tregar said as he stroked Lynesse Hightower's thigh with a smirk. Jorah held Tregar's gaze with murder in his own eyes.

"She is the highest commander of my armies, my closest friend and my most loyal councilor. I will not let any harm come to her by any means." Robb stated bluntly, earning a brief glance from Dacey behind him. Tregar tapped his fingers on Lynesse's exposed thigh, he exhaled with a sigh before looking up to Lynesse who merely made a flicking gesture with her hand.

"Very well. They will return to your ship. This man however-."

"Will be the topic of our negotiations. I cannot allow you to kill him, nor keep him. His life was entrusted to me by the Mother of Dragons." Tregar visibly became more serious at the mention of Daenerys Targaryen. He pushed Lynesse of his lap to sit straighter. The blonde woman looked affronted, but decided to keep her composure in front of the Stark party.

"What could the Silver Queen possibly want with an exile, a fool and a traitor?" Tregar demanded.

"Allow my companions to return to my ships first." Robb stated, holding Tregar's gaze with his own vivid blue.

"Very well. Be gone from my home, and dare not return here again." Tregar dismissed Smalljon and Dacey who glared up at him for a moment before stiffly bowing their heads in courtesy. Robb did not pay his friends any attention as they left the receiving hall with a number of Robb's men with them. His remaining soldiers stood at the back of the hall whilst Ser Barristan and Ser Raynald stayed behind him.

"You were saying?" Tregar prompted eagerly from his seat.

"This man is the closest protector and most trusted friend of Queen Daenerys. I am sure word has reached even Lys by now of the alliance between the wolf and the dragon. This man is a condition of that alliance. I am to bring him to Westeros where he will be a guard to Daenerys Targaryen when she arrives atop her dragon."

"You bring your own doom, my lord. The dragonlords know nothing of mercy or of alliances. She will burn you and yours until she has retaken what is hers with fire and blood."

"Well if that is true, will you be the one to take what is hers?" Robb responded, causing Tregar to go rarely silent. The merchant prince clenched his jaw, looking from Lynesse to Jorah.

"How do I know that he won't come back to trouble me again?" Tregar asked. Robb took a breath and turned his head to look at Jorah.

"If he should try to defy my orders, then the only fate that awaits him is death." This answer seemed to satisfy Tregar who sat back in his throne with the smallest smirk on his features.

"The conclave gave you another week in Lys, did they not?" Tregar finally asked, after a few moments of playing with the large ruby encrusted ring on his finger.

"Aye. They did. But we intend to sail tomorrow." Robb said stiffly.

"Very good. Then my condition of his release is this; until Lys is a speck on the horizon behind you, this man will remain in your brig. I want him not wandering around my city."

"Very well." Robb agreed after only a second or two of deliberation. He turned his head over his shoulder to nod at one of his soldiers. The man walked forward to help Ser Jorah to his feet and escort him from the hall.

"Don't think this is over, Lynesse!" Jorah called over his back, prompting Tregar to sit forward angrily.

"Keep him quiet." Robb ordered at once, causing his soldier to punch Jorah Mormont across the jaw before dragging him from the hall. Tregar raised an eyebrow at Robb.

"I suppose now you want to renegotiate the terms of our trade alliance." Tregar said in a rather bored tone. Robb merely grinned before nodding.

* * *

"You had three of your people fighting in his house, and you still managed to talk him down into lowering his prices on silks. How, Your Grace? How?" Ser Raynald asked in disbelief as he, Robb and Ser Barristan hurried through the streets of Lys back towards the docks. Lys was a truly beautiful island city, the temperatures were perfect, the sky was always clear, and the city thrived on entertainment and pleasure. Here a man was valued more for his skill in trade than for his skill in arms.

After the storm that had caused a chaotic break in the formation of his fleet, Robb had needed to wait in Lys for two days to regroup. Three of their ships had gone down in the storm, a burden that weighed on Robb heavily. He had had nightmares of his loyal soldiers and sailors fighting against the wind, rains and tide to survive. He knew those would not be the last nightmares of men lost to his orders. The conclave of Magisters in Lys had been eager to allow Robb to rest and resupply in their harbors, for since House Stark had taken the Iron Throne they had forged trade connections and friendships in Lys that saw many of the ruling Magisters profit greatly. Robb was becoming a popular international leader, something he had yet to come to terms with or even realize.

"I believe I was channeling the sharp-witted nature of my beloved Queen, Ser Raynald. At any rate, we should not dawdle." Robb said, just as they approached the docks. Ninety-seven Westerosi ships were docked in the waters of Lys, some bore scars of the storm that had ambushed them, most were still solid and strong. _The Howl_ was one of the few ships that were actually docked in the city's port, meaning Robb strode down the pier to easily board his ship without a fuss. Dacey and Smalljon were both waiting for him with apologies at hand.

"-I am so sorry, Robb. I never meant-."

"-really, really stupid. I had no idea what would-." Robb's gaze flicked between them, trying to make sense of what they were saying before he raised his hands.

"Enough!" Robb cried, cutting them both off. "You can both tell me all about it on the journey home. Sound the horns; bring all the men back to the ships. Prepare to make sail for Westeros. We need to leave Lys, and we need to leave _now_."

* * *

"Gods, it's perfect…" Tyrion Lannister breathed in admiration as he stepped back to stand next to Brandon Stark's chair. Bran's head had lolled backwards whilst only the whites of his eyes could be seen. With a gasp Bran's head whipped up, and he shakily returned to his own senses. Viserion, the great cream scaled dragon that had bonded to Bran twitched his head as he regained control of his own body. Bran and Tyrion had agreed that it would be wise for Bran to be controlling the dragon when he was fitted with the freshly made saddle that would allow Bran to successfully ride him. The Meereense creature-keepers hurried back to stand in the safety of the archways leading out from the terrace as Viserion stretched and became accustomed to the feeling of the saddle on him.

"How does he like it?"

"He doesn't. He doesn't know what its for. Help me, will you?" Bran asked Tyrion with a grin as he made to roll forward and attempt to climb up onto Viserion's saddle.

"I'm afraid we don't have the time, Bran. Queen Daenerys wanted us to join her procession to the pits. We are already running behind." Tyrion said reluctantly. Bran turned his head to give Tyrion a woeful look.

"Oh don't do that. You already used the sad eyes to convince me up here. Come on now. The sooner we get this over with, the better." Tyrion smiled, gesturing for Bran to follow him.

"Fine. I'll be back soon, Viserion." Bran promised to the dragon, who unleashed a docile croak. The Lords of Casterly Rock and Winterfell made their way through the Great Pyramid to where the Mother of Dragons was gladly waiting for them in the entrance chambers of the Pyramid. Daenerys looked as magnificently beautiful as ever; clad in a gown of pristine white that put the clouds to shame, with her hair held in place by a fantastic sterling silver dragon pin that matched the silver choker around her throat. Jon Stark had combed his hair for the occasion, but remained clad in the black steel plate armor that Robb had given to him in Westeros. Jon did not trust the Meereense, Dany knew that much of her nephew.

"Do you ever wonder about your father? I mean…your _real_ father?" Daenerys asked Jon as they waited with her Unsullied for Lord Tyrion and Bran. Jon had been adjusting his cloak and the golden wrought badge of a hand when her question caught him off guard.

"In truth…only since I have begun spending time with you. I always saw Lord Stark as my father. I never doubted it, so much so that I still struggle to believe I am not his son. Robb and Bran tell me that he raised me as such, they encourage me to call him father. But Prince Rhaegar...? All I know of him come from the stories. Half call him a hero, the other call him a rapist. Of all the talks you and I have had…you know little more of him than I do. And yet his blood is my blood. And my blood is the reason I stand here now, instead of the Pisswater Prince."

"My brothers may have been both mad. I could not say about Rhaegar for a certainty. Maybe love made him mad?"

"My mother was fourteen, and he a man grown. I struggle to reason it with _love_." Jon responded, causing Dany to nod as she chewed her lip.

"I was but a girl when Viserys sold me to Drogo in exchange for an army." She admitted, causing Jon to go silent.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Drogo was…well. He was Drogo. I loved him in the end, he was my sun and stars and I would have bore him a son. But if he still lived…that's all I would be good for. Bearing sons. I am more than that." Daenerys stated, causing Jon to bow his head in respect.

"Indeed you are, my Queen. I apologize for the tardiness. Shall we press on?" Tyrion Lannister announced as he strolled into the entrance hall with Bran rolling on his chair behind him. Dany sighed, knowing that she had no other excuse to dawdle now. Her stomach turned at the thought of what awaited them, and she did not move for a moment when the Unsullied opened the doors of the entrance hall and natural light blinded her.

"It'll be alright." Bran said quietly from beside her, she turned her head to see him looking up at her with a reassuring smile. She in turn nodded, before turning her head back to march out the doors with her head held high. The streets were lined with her supporters, the freedmen were by now cleaner and clothed. The fruits of their labors beginning to form. The city was less crowded, which meant that Dany's procession was able to make it to the Great Pit of Daznak relatively quickly.

At the gates of Daznak's Pit two towering bronze warriors stood locked in mortal combat. One wielded a sword, the other an axe; the sculptor had depicted them in the act of killing one another, their blades and bodies forming an archway overhead.

Jon Stark was covered in a fine sheen of sweat when he climbed up to stand behind Queen Daenerys's seat of honor, taking position beside Grey-Worm. The Queen's group took their seats, with Bran rolling his chair to Daenerys's side at her urging. The arena itself was filled to capacity, with every person screaming and hollering for the games to begin. Daenerys did her best to avoid wrinkling her nose. Hizdar zo Loraq, wormed his way to bow before Daenerys from the seats of the noble families of Meereen behind her.

"Your Grace, welcome to the Great Games. It is my honor to stand beside you today and explain the great traditions of the games. We know that this will be your first-."

"Thank you, Hizdar. You may sit there." Daenerys pointed to the corner of the pavilion where a small stool had been placed for him.

"…I-…I am honored…" Hizdar muttered darkly, before bowing. He begrudgingly sank onto the stool as Daenerys and her companions turned their attention back out onto the field. A favorable wind kept the attendees cool in the blistering Essosi sun, though Daenerys herself sat in a shaded pavilion with her party. Targaryen banners of a three-headed dragon in red on a black field blew proudly from every pillar. Her Unsullied and Brazen Beasts stood around the arena to police the event in full force. Jon Stark himself had elected to serve as one of her bodyguards that day, for he had been filled with a paranoia from the onset of these games. Daenerys could not have blamed him, she liked this little less than he did.

On the field, her appointed Game Master and pit announcer moved to center of the arena to bow his head to her. She nodded slightly, giving him the leave to begin the games.

" _Free Citizens of Meereen!"_ the bearded, long-haired man cried out in the Valyrian tongue. " _By the blessings of the Graces and her majesty the Queen, welcome to the Great Games!"_ Daenerys, Missandei, Jon and Brandon Stark all looked shocked and disturbed at the roars of approval that met the announcer's words.

" _My Queen, our first contest! Who will triumph? The strong or the quick?"_ the announcer raised his hands to gesture to two very contrasting men who stepped forward from the shadows of the pit to stand on either side of him. One was a hulking brute of a man, whilst the other was a lithe and agile rogue.

 _"I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious Queen!"_ the men chorused as they gazed up at Dany. The entire arena fell deathly silent as a long awkward pause took hold of the games. Every eye was on Dany who shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"They're waiting for _you_. Clap your hands." Hizdar hissed at her from his spot in the corner. Daenerys gave him a cool look before she clenched her jaw and raised her hands to a reluctant, single clap. The two men on the field began to engage in a deadly dance. The brute carried a greatsword that was taller than the rogue, and with each swing it looked as though it would chop the other man in half.

"The smaller man is too confident." Bran noted.

"Why should he not be? He's fighting smart. Dodging the brute, tiring him out." Jon asked of his brother. Dany ground her teeth slightly. She had hoped that the Stark men would provide her distraction from the blood and gore.

"Yes, but he's not afraid. He's smirking, he's laughing. His death could be at hand, and he is not taking it seriously." Bran responded.

"Fear in a fight gets a man killed, Bran. He has confidence."

"He has arrogance, Jon. Confidence is not something I would ever slander. If the rogue succeeds this day, then his arrogance will only grow wilder."

"I'd say the man has earned a little right to be arrogant. Don't we all at some point?" Tyrion Lannister quipped from his chair on Daenerys's other side.

"I have spent much of my life in Meereen, and in my experience, larger men do triumph over smaller man, far more often than not." Hizdar interjected from his corner, prompting every eye in the pavilion to flick over to him disdainfully.

"Has your experience ever involved any actual fighting? _You,_ yourself, have you ever tried to kill a man that was trying to kill you?" Daenerys asked. Hizdar remained silent as her companions fought to hide smirks of amusement.

"Back home, whenever I watched drunken brawls, tournament melees, or my brother Jaime chasing down someone who had annoyed him, I could never keep up. My brother is slender, lean and agile. Hardly a brute with a greatsword, and yet when he entered the lists, the Lords of Westeros could not loosen their purses quick enough. Though the same could be said for the Mountain as well…" Tyrion trailed off as the hulking brute in front of them swung his greatsword with a great bellow to take the head off the rogue who challenged him. The royal party remained silent as Hizdar and the people of Meereen cheered raucously.

"You don't approve, my lord?" Hizdar asked of Tyrion Lannister.

"There's always been more than enough death in the world for my taste. I can do without it in my leisure time." The Halfman quipped, earning a small smile from Dany.

"Fair enough, yet - it's an unpleasant question - but what great thing has ever been accomplished without killing or cruelty?" Hizdar questioned, ever the politician hoping to press his views on Dany.

"It's easy to confuse what is with what ought to be. Especially when what is has worked in your favor." Tyrion replied.

"I'm not talking about myself. I'm talking about the necessary conditions of greatness." Hizdar said, earning a glare from the younger Brandon Stark.

"That is greatness?" Bran demanded of the Ghiscari noble. Dany glanced at Bran in slight surprise, having never seen her friend in anger. Bran looked very much like the proud Stark in that moment. Hizdar seemed taken aback to be challenged by a foreign youngster in a wheelchair such was his arrogance.

"That is a vital part of the great city of Meereen. Which has existed long before _you_ arrived aboard your brother's ships, or the Queen arrived at the head of her army, and will remain standing long after we have all returned to the dirt.

"My father would have liked you." Tyrion commented dryly as he looked out at the field in a bored fashion when the pit announcer returned.

" _We ask again: who will triumph?"_ the bearded man called, earning more roars and cheers of excitement from the people gathered in the arena.

"One day your great city will return to the dirt as well." Daenerys muttered darkly to Hizdar who seemed slightly taken aback.

"At your command?" he asked her, only for Dany to turn her burning violet eyes to him. Hizdar fell silent and shrunk slightly under Daenerys's gaze.

"If need be." The Mother of Dragons said simply. Jon, Bran and Tyrion all gazed at her in an odd combination of respect, fear and admiration.

" _A Meereenese champion?"_ the announcer called from the field, his words falling on deaf ears in the royal pavilion as the party continued to debate.

"How many people will die to make this happen?" Hizdar challenged Dany, leaning forward on his rickety stool. Daenerys did not pay him the respect to look at him as she replied.

"If it comes to that they would have died for a good reason."

"Those men think they're dying for a good reason." Hizdar said, pointing to the gathering warriors who would fight in a few minutes time.

"Someone else's reason." Bran pointed out, rolling his chair forward slightly to look past Dany at Hizdar.

"So your reasons are true, and theirs are false. They don't know their own minds, but you do? She does?" Hizdar asked, causing Bran to falter for a moment. Tyrion however did not fail to snatch the opportunity to speak.

"Well said, you're an eloquent man." Tyrion said at first, causing Hizdar to incline his head gratefully in the Imp's direction. "Doesn't mean you're wrong. In my experience, eloquent men are right every bit as often as imbeciles." Tyrion finished, with Hizdar glaring at him whilst Bran rolled back to Dany's side. The Silver Queen placed an appreciative hand on his forearm for a moment before she realized that the arena was waiting for her once more. Gathered before her were a variety of warriors from across the Known World, each battling for a place of honor in Meereen's gory history. Dany shook her head slightly as she raised her hands to clap once.

Seven men fought to the death before her. A Braavosi water dancer spilled the entrails of a shirtless wildling far from his home Beyond-the-Wall. A Dothraki fighter, with a braid that fell only to his shoulders, decapitated a Tyroshi spearman with his arakh before a Norvoshi swordsman drove his blade through the Dothraki's belly. The putrid smells of blood and gore simmered in the sun, causing Dany to raise a hand to cover her nose as the fights wore on.

"How much more of this must I tolerate?" she asked Bran quietly when only the Braavosi water dancer and the Meereense champion remained. When the water dancer fell to the ground with the champion's spear impaled through his torso, the entire pit of Daznak rose in an uproar. Daenerys sighed as she too rose to clap her hands at Hizdar's behest. The deafening sound of cheers masked the treachery that unfolded in a matter of moments.

From outside the arena the gates were barred and shut. Inside men and women alike began to don golden masks of a twisted harpy, blades were drawn and then buried into those Meereense loyal to Daenerys. Jon had been the first to realize what was going on, for an overwhelming instinct had forced him to turn and see a charging Son of the Harpy running towards him with a dagger in hand. Jon had unsheathed _Longclaw_ and dismembered the attacker before he could take another breath.

"PROTECT YOUR QUEEN!" Jon roared as the collapsing body of the Son of the Harpy prompted Missandei to scream and Dany to rise from her seat in shock. The royal party watched in horror as the people turned on each other. Those wearing golden masks butchered those who weren't, the Great Pit of Daznak ran red with the blood of innocent Meereenese. The Unsullied and Brazen Beasts fought to regain control, but even in their great force the Sons of the Harpy outnumbered them. Thirty Unsullied joined Jon and Grey-Worm in protecting the royal pavilion where they were quickly swarmed by the golden masks.

"Your Grace! Come with me! I know a way out! I know a way ou-!" Hizdar exclaimed as he tried to push his way into the protected circle, only to be pulled back by a number of Sons of the Harpy. Multiple daggers were driven into Hizdar zo Loraq before his body was dropped and stomped upon by those who advanced upon Daenerys, Bran, Missandei, Jon and Tyrion. The Unsullied held them off bravely as Jon hopped over the barrier of the royal pavilion to land on the arena field.

"Quickly! Grab the back of his chair!" Jon roared to Missandei who helped Jon ease Bran's chair to the ground with him.

"Watch out!" Tyrion Lannister called from behind Missandei, before he threw himself viciously at an assailant who had slipped through the ranks of Unsullied to target the little scribe. Tyrion drove a golden dagger into the back of the man's masked head repeatedly before urging Missandei on.

"Go! Quickly!" Tyrion exclaimed as Missandei stared at the dwarf in awe. Daenerys and Grey-Worm followed her before Tyrion threw himself off to roll onto the dirt quite gracefully.

"You've done that before." Jon commented to Tyrion before drawing his sword once more. "With me! Protect your Queen!" Jon roared, bringing as many Unsullied and Brazen Beasts to him as possible. Jon knew that he had to get Bran and Daenerys to safety. Nothing else mattered. He could not fail Robb. He could not fail Westeros.

The group hurried to the center of the arena in an effort to cross to the fighter's exit only to be stopped by a fresh set of screams. A great shadow fell across the arena field. Above them all the dragon turned, dark against the sun. His scales were black, his eyes and horns and spinal plates blood red. Ever the largest of her three, in the wild Drogon had grown larger still. His wings stretched twenty feet from tip to tip, black as jet. He flapped them once as he swept back above the sands, and the sound was like a clap of thunder. Jon and Bran gaped open-mouthed at the great Drogon, who was much larger than either of the dragons bonded to them. At the mere thought of their dragons, the brothers were shocked to see two more silhouettes in the sky. As they drew closer Jon saw a flash of green and bronze, whilst Bran was almost blinded by the sunlight glimmering off Viserion's cream scaled body. The dragons unleashed a chorus of screams that shook the very ground of the arena. Daenerys seemed to be emotionally moved by the appearance of Drogon, who at once unleashed his great fire; black streaked with red, onto the frozen Sons of the Harpy.

"Dany…" Bran said urgently, rolling his chair through the dirt of the field "Now. You have to connect with Drogon now! Reach out to him." Bran encouraged as Jon looked over his shoulder desperately at the pair of them.

"Now isn't the best time, Bran!" Jon said desperately as he watched the other two dragons join Drogon in setting the attackers aflame.

"The dragons will protect us! If we don't bind her to Drogon now, we might lose the chance!" Bran exclaimed over the screams and roaring fires.

"Dany," Bran took her hand, causing Dany to go silent and look down at their interlocked fingers. Brandon's hands were surprisingly tender, and it had been long since a man had held her hand. "You can do this. You _have_ to do this. Bond with Drogon." Bran encouraged of her. Daenerys swallowed the dryness away in her throat before turning to look at Drogon who circled the Great Pit of Daznak easily. As she began to focus on her largest dragon, she began to sense him as Bran had explained she would. She sensed his rage, she sensed his wildness, she also sensed that he missed her. Dany gasped, raising a hand to cover her mouth as the connection almost became palpable. In the chaos and confusion, the surprise jarred her enough to lose the bond.

"I had it!" she exclaimed in frustration. She looked up to see that the Sons of the Harpy were almost entirely destroyed by the flame of her dragons. Crisped bodies littered the ground as the three beasts circled above them. Drogon crashed to the field, the force of which knocked Jon and many of the Unsullied off their feet. Bran's chair fell sideways from the shockwaves whilst Dany herself stumbled to her knees. Daenerys saw the fear in her companions eyes, and rose to her feet quickly to stride forward towards Drogon, focusing with all her might on him as Bran had taught her to. She began to sense the connection again, she began to feel it become tangible to her to reach out…

She screamed, rearing back on her hind legs in confusion and fear as she invaded the mind of Drogon. Her wings flapped out on either side of her as she struggled to maintain the connection that Drogon fought against and control the dragon's body. In an internal battle, Dany sought out the dragon who had always been her favorite. Drogon seemed to recognize Dany and with great hesitancy reached out to her.

On the field, the party watched in astonishment as Daenerys remained standing and her eyes rolled upward, facing Drogon intently. The dragon itself appeared to stand on its hind legs for a moment before settling back down into a defensive ball. Its great black and blood-red head seemed to twitch slightly until finally Daenerys stumbled and took a great gasping breath of air. Jon rose to help his aunt, who shook her head as she righted herself on her own. Drogon let out a docile croak before moving forward to approach Dany hesitantly.

"I-…I don't-…I don't know what happened. I just…I spoke to her. She-…she missed me." Dany breathed as she herself stepped forward to caress Drogon's great scaly head.

" _She?_ " Tyrion asked in shock.

"Yes. She. Drogon is a _girl_ …" Daenerys breathed in wonderment as she stroked the dragon's chin.

* * *

The messenger from Stonedance; the seat of House Massey of Massey's Hook, had arrived in King's Landing at dawn. Lord Massey reported that a great fleet had been seen sailing into Blackwater Bay; a great fleet flying grey sails and banners of a fierce crowned direwolf's head. Three ships were reported to be a day ahead of the rest of the fleet, sailing for King's Landing with all haste.

Leo Tyrell, Royal Steward to the Iron Throne, had been awoken to receive the mounted messenger. The Grey Cloaks and remaining soldiers of King Robb's Royal Army had been charged with protecting the castle and barring any strangers from entry, all a result of Jaime Lannister's attempt on Queen Margaery's life. It had been too early in the day to risk bothering the Queen or any of the Small Council, thus the soldiers had brought the messenger to him. Moments later Leo was striding down the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast to the royal apartments.

"Halt! Who goes there?" Ser Loras Tyrell, clearly weary from a long shift of protecting his royal sister's door, blinked at Leo for a few moments before he recognized his second-cousin.

"What news, Leo?" Loras asked, dropping his hand from the hilt of his sword whilst the four Grey Cloaks under his command similarly relaxed their stances.

"The King's ship has been spotted sailing around Massey's Hook two days ago. A rider rode day and night to bring us news from Stonedance."

"A raven would have been quicker." Loras commented dryly.

"Lord Massey hopes to earn favor for such ensuring that this important news reached the Red Keep." Leo sighed, causing Loras to roll his eyes.

"Of course. My sister grows ever weary from her pregnancy, the Grand Maester reports that she must keep her strength. Give the rider accommodations in the castle, the Queen will wish to speak with him when she awakens."

"A-are you sure, my lord? The Queen ordered that any news of the King be brought to her at once…" Leo said uncertainly, his gaze flicking from the strapping white-armored knight to the doors of the royal bedchambers.

"Aye, and this news will keep until she awakens in an hour. The King's ship couldn't possibly make it into Blackwater Bay today if he was only sighted two days ago at Massey's Hook. If it pleases you however, be free to wake the Queen." Loras gestured to the door, for Leo to swallow uncomfortably. Queen Margaery had understandably become more irritable as her pregnancy reached its end, and most of those in the castle knew not to bother her when she finally managed to sleep.

"I-…I shall entrust this matter in your hands, Ser Loras."

"Wise." Loras said with a smile.

Though it was not even an hour later when three large galleys were spotted on the horizon, the rising sun a golden ball of flame behind them. The ships flew grey sails and direwolf banners, but only the largest and grandest of them flew the royal standard of King Robb Stark, First of His Name.

"Well, bloody hell…" Loras muttered to himself in amazement as he stood on one of the Red Keep's balconies watching the ships approach with speed.

"Those are Seaworth ships, lad. You won't find faster, stronger vessels anywhere in the Known World." Lord Davos Seaworth said proudly from beside the white-cloaked knight. Ser Loras had taken a temporary leave from his post to call on Lord Davos. The two men had taken to this balcony in Maegor's Holdfast where Loras asked Davos to confirm if those were their ships.

"You were a smuggler, how did you become a shipwright?"

"I was a sailor. I know ships. I know the sea. In truth, I did not know if _The Howl_ would be a success…I am happy to see that it is. Come, the Queen will want to know at once. I wish not to be the one to tell her we delayed." Lord Davos chuckled. Before either man could make to leave, the bells of the Sept of Baelor began to toll loudly and a small crowd began to form on the docks where the ships were getting increasingly closer.

"I do not envy you, lad." Davos chuckled as Loras hung his head with a sigh.

"Why didn't you wake me at once?" Margaery demanded of her brother as she threw the furs off her body, prompting Grey-Wind to sit up sharply from his slumber.

"You've hardly been getting any sleep. I didn't think the ship would make port today, but Lord Davos has confirmed that the three ships are _Lord Eddard's Honor, The Grey-Wind_ and _The Howl_." Loras said with a slight smile as he saw his sister's features light up. Margaery herself could not stay angry long. Robb was finally coming home after months away. Months away on a quest that both of them had feared he would not return from. She felt an excitement course through her body at embracing her husband once again, excitement that prompted a familiar feeling of discomfort in her abdomen. Margaery winced, placing a hand atop her belly and causing Loras to step forward in concern.

"Tis nothing…I have been having these… _contractions_ for weeks. Grand Maester Rickard says they are quite comm-ow. Oof." Margaery winced as her abdomen clenched and cramped in a similar manner to when she had her moon's blood, though _much_ more painfully. She let out a startled groan of pain before looking up to Loras with fear in her young, golden brown gaze.

"Get Rickard." She whispered.

* * *

Robb Stark stood on the bow of _The Howl_ watching his city grow larger and larger with a beam on his face. He wore brown boiled leather armor over his grey woolen doublet, his crown was fixed atop his head but did nothing to stop the wind from blowing through his dark thick locks. Even from where they were several leagues out of the docks they could hear the bells being tolled loudly.

"They're welcoming home their King." Ser Barristan said with a smile in his tone. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stood behind Robb with his hand on the hilt of his blade.

"I should ring a bell for them. I never thought I would be happy to see King's Landing. But now…"

"Now the city is yours. The country is yours."

"Aye. But it is not the strength of my power nor the security of my castle that I am happy to be close to once more."

"No." Ser Barristan chuckled "I am sure even now the Queen watches you from the Red Keep. Perhaps with your heirs in her arms." Ser Barristan only made Robb beam wider. The King turned on his heel to look at Dacey Mormont behind the ship's wheel with Smalljon Umber standing beside her.

"Lady Mormont! Full speed into the port!" Dacey grinned at her King's orders, before nodding.

"All hands, you heard the King!"

* * *

" _Normal?!_ THIS DOESN'T FEEL NORMAL!" Queen Margaery bellowed at the Grand Maester who gave her a patient smile in return. Margaery was holding her belly as she laid on the royal bed whilst Grand Maester Rickard was kneeling beside her. Three of Rickard's acolytes were standing by Ser Loras waiting for instruction.

"Your Grace, it is time. The babies are on their way."

"No. No, Robb's almost here. I have to wait for him."

"Your Grace, this will take some time. Your body must prepare, the King could very well be here by the time you are ready to push. But you cannot fight this, you must relax and you must breathe." Rickard urged, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You three, fetch cleans linens, hot water and all the medicines and poultices I have prepared for the birth. Go, quickly. Ser Loras, I think it wise if we have a messenger waiting at the docks to inform the King that his children are on the way."

"I think you're right." Loras said, before bowing his head. "Margaery, I will return soon." He promised to his sister, who had her eyes jammed shut and her jaw clenched as she experienced another painful contraction.

* * *

Robb was almost shaking with excitement as the sailors drew up the sails of the ship and dropped anchor, bringing the grand warship to a gentle bump against the wooden pier. After four and a half long months away at sea, they were _finally_ home. A great crowd had gathered on the shores, they cheered and roared as they made up their own tales of what adventures their Hero-King had gotten up to across the Narrow Sea. Robb gave his people a friendly wave from the ship as the wooden bride was lowered and his soldiers filed out first to secure the docks for him. Dacey and Smalljon approached Robb as they donned their cloaks, the temperatures in Westeros already having dropped further in their absence.

"Lady Mormont, I relieve you of your duties as Captain of _The Howl_."

"It has been my honor, Your Grace." Dacey smiled as she bowed her head to him.

"I ask of you one final task before we conclude this quest, find Lord Davos and charge him with the duties of organizing our fleet as they return to port. After I order you both to get some well-deserved rest."

"What of Jorah and Daario Naharis?" Smalljon Umber asked, with Robb flicking his gaze over to the two men as they walked out onto the ship's deck.

"Find them adjacent chambers in the Tower of the Hand. Jon's hardly filled the rooms, there should be plenty of space. Assign Grey Cloaks to watch Ser Jorah at all times."

"Aye." Smalljon nodded. His gaze flicked over Robb's shoulder before his brow furrowed in confusion. Robb turned to see that a Grey Cloak carrying a crowned banner was pushing his way through the throng of soldiers and sailors that were disembarking _The Howl_.

"Make way! _MAKE WAY!"_ Smalljon Umber roared of the men, who parted at his thunderous roar to allow the panting Grey Cloak through to them. He fell into a kneel before Robb, struggling to catch his breath.

"King Robb! I bring urgent word from the castle; Queen Margaery is giving birth!" Where one would have expected an instantaneous reaction from the Wolf King, Robb could only freeze in place, staring at the Grey Cloak with wide, vivid blue eyes.

"Robb…?" Dacey asked in confusion.

"Robb." Smalljon tapped his friend's shoulder to receive no response.

"Your Grace?" Ser Barristan stepped around to face his King with a raised brow of concern.

"My King…did-…did you not hear me? The Queen-…she is-…"

"BY ALL THE GODS IN HEAVEN! GET ME A HORSE! NOW!" Robb snapped, cutting off the messenger as he charged past Dacey, Smalljon and Ser Barristan.

"Make way! Make way!" Robb called, with his loyal soldiers parting as soon as they saw him.

"I...honestly wasn't expecting that." Smalljon commented to the other two as they watched Robb sprint up the pier to where three other Grey Cloaks were waiting with his standard raised and his horse's reigns in hand.

"I don't think _he_ was either." Dacey chuckled.

* * *

" _AAAAAAAHHH!_ " Queen Margaery's scream of pain caused two of the acolytes in the room to exchange nervous glances, whilst Grand Maester Rickard remained the paragon of patience.

"Breathe, Margaery. Breathe."

"I _AM_ BREATHING! _YOU_ PUSH THESE BABIES OUT!" Margaery hollered at Rickard, just as the doors slammed open and her husband flew into the room to trip over the edge of a fine Myrish rug and crash to the floor at speed. Everyone looked shocked and confused, even Margaery whose hair was plastered to her sweat-covered head had parted her lips, not quite sure if it was indeed her husband who was acting like a madman.

"It's ok! I'm here! It's ok! I'm alright." Robb leaped back up from the ground to sway slightly. "Mostly alright." Covered in sweat himself, having sprinted from his horse all the the way here, Robb looked crazed until he and Margaery locked gazes again for the first time in almost five months.

"Margaery…" Robb forgot the pain in his knees and side and practically glided forward to cup his wife's face in his hands and plant a loving kiss on her lips. Margaery's own hand curled tightly in Robb's hair as she responded happily to seeing him again.

"You're late…" she muttered as they grazed each other's noses affectionately. Robb half-chuckled, looking from her eyes down to her belly.

"Apparently I'm just in time." He smiled, just before Margaery unleashed another exclamation of pain.


	31. Chapter 31 - Night Gathers

On the 30th day of the Ninth Moon in the 300th year after Aegon's Conquest, the Starks of King's Landing were blessed with a boy and a girl. Strong newborns they were, born from the blood and strength of Stark and Tyrell. Queen Margaery had labored for a day and a night to bring the twins into the world, with King Robb by her side through every moment of it. The sun was nearing it's midpoint when the babies were cleaned by Grand Maester Rickard and his acolytes, Margaery was given medicines that Rickard had devised himself to treat her body after the gruelling process of childbirth. The weary Queen rested her head against her husband's chest, while Robb's hands gently caressed her arms.

"You are amazing." Robb breathed into her ear affectionately, with Margaery squeezing his fingers gently in response.

"I missed you." She said after taking a long breath.

"I missed _you_." Robb kissed her hair, before mother and father looked up to see Rickard and one of his acolytes holding their children. Robb and Margaery both fell into a quiet wonderment, staring at the croaking newborns. Both had tufts of golden brown Tyrell hair that almost seemed to curl in a Stark-like fashion, or at least Robb liked to think so. Their eyes had not yet opened and their noses were still slightly flat from the birth, but Robb and Margaery could not express at that moment just how much love they felt for their own children. Margaery's golden brown eyes glistened as Grand Maester Rickard placed her eldest, the boy, into her waiting arms. Though she was nervous at holding him, she felt such a joy simultaneously. The robust baby boy had been born first, five minutes older than his slightly smaller sister who the acolyte placed into Robb's own arms. Robb marveled at his daughter, who moved in his arms as he gently hovered his thumb over her soft cheek.

"Congratulations, my King, my Queen." Rickard smiled. "What will you call them?"

Robb and Margaery looked from their babies to one another. Margaery smiled, glancing down to their boy in her arms when Robb did.

"He will be Eddard Stark, Crown Prince of Westeros." Margaery said confidently, looking back up to Robb whose lip trembled slightly before he leaned in to kiss Margaery gently on the lips.

"And the Princess?" Rickard asked when Robb and Margaery glanced from Eddard to his litte sister who was beginning to flutter her puffy eyelids open. Robb and Margary watched intently as eyes of a vivid blue began to look up at them unfocusedly. Baby Eddard followed his younger sister in opening his eyes soon after, revealing a similar pair of blue orbs that were hazy from the birth.

"They have your eyes…" Margaery breathed quietly as she ran a gentle finger down Eddard's arm to to his balled up little fist. Margaery gasped when her son opened his fist to clench around her finger as tightly as he could.

"He'll be a warrior yet." Robb grinned, before looking back into the face of his baby girl who seemed to be looking up at him.

"We talked about so many names, but now that I see her…none of them seem to suit her." Margaery sighed.

"She's a beauty. Just like her mother. A flower." Robb smiled, stroking his daughter's cheek. "I know what we should call her, the old Andal word for flower. _Alyssa_."

"Alyssa. Princess Alyssa Stark." Margaery tried the name as she reached a hand over to caress her daughter's cheek. "Yes."

"I shall give you all some time together. I will have the cribs sent in for when they are tired. The people will wish to ring the bells again." Rickard chuckled, causing Margaery to roll her eyes.

"Very well, but if the babies do not like it then I shall have none of it."

"Of course, Your Grace." Rickard bowered before ushering his acolytes out of the room. Margaery and Robb did an awkward swap of their babies, so that Robb could hold baby Eddard and she could hold Alyssa.

"They're beautiful…" Robb said in amazement as he stared down at his son and heir. "My _son_ …" the Young Wolf shook his head with a chuckle.

Outside the walls of the Red Keep the bells of the Sept of Baelor began to toll once again. The people of King's Landing celebrated on the barrels of ale, wine and lager that the Red Keep sent out on Robb's orders. Toasts were raised to "Prince Ned and Princess Aly" the twins whose birth inspired the commonfolk that this new time of honorable peace and prosperity in the Kingdoms would last.

* * *

Arianne stood on the ramparts of the Red Keep that overlooked Blackwater Bay. The beautiful Princess of Dorne stood elegantly with her hands clasped in front of her, watching the returning ships of King Robb's fleet with an intense sort of interest. She knew Jon would not be onboard, for she had been present when King Robb's letter detailed how he was staying behind in Meereen to assist Daenerys Targaryen in bringing her dragons to Westeros. A plan Arianne still questioned, despite the confidence that Robb Stark's soldiers and sailors returned with. Arianne took a breath through her nose, her chest rising before she sighed heavily.

"You failed." She said, not bothering to turn and face her brother. Quentyn had approached Arianne in silence, still clad in his sailing garb.

"You know not the obstacles I faced to gain audience with her." Quentyn stated bluntly as he moved to stand next to her.

"I was discovered before we even reached the Stepstones."

"Then that is your own folly. Disguising yourself as a spearman. I told you it was foolish."

"And yet you did not offer me any alternatives." Quentyn stated hotly, causing Arianne to turn on her heel. She and Quentyn were of equal height, but Arianne still managed to have a towering presence over her younger brother as she held his gaze with burning rage.

"Your task was yours alone to bear. Father made it clear to you before we left. I am here for _Dorne_. I work every day in this city for our family. House Martell is finally starting to be respected in the reign of the Starks. Father might have intended you to be Prince of Dorne _once_ brother, but no longer. Dorne is mine. Sunspear is _mine_." Arianne clenched her jaw, her exotic beauty had turned dangerous. Any other man would have faltered and run, but Quentyn was her brother, and merely curled his lip angrily.

"He would not let me off the ships, and when I finally had a chance to speak with her, she was turned to his side. She was enraptured by the Hand and the Broken Wolf."

"What do you mean?" Arianne asked, raising her eyebrow. "What of the Hand?" Quentyn took a step back to look at his elder sister crytically.

"You fucked him didn't you?" Quentyn asked. Before Arianne's hand could connect with his cheek, Quentyn caught her wrist.

"Do not raise your hand to me, sister. I am bound to serve you and our father, but that does not mean I will be submissive." Quentyn relased her hand, with Arianne snatching it away with a huff. "Did you fuck him? And what? Are you jealous now?" Quentyn asked, only to have Arianne's nostils flare angrily.

"Fear not, sister. The Black Wolf sees the Mother of Dragons only as family. It is Bran the Broken who harbors desire for her." Arianne chewed her lip at this news, before turning away so she would not have to look at Quentyn any longer.

"Father has sent word for you. News of your failed mission reached him." Arianne said after a while, keeping her gaze on the ships and the sea.

"By your own hand, I do not doubt." Quentyn spat, striding forward to stand next to her seething. "What did you tell him?"

"The truth." She said, continuing to look straight ahead of her. "You failed to charm Queen Daenerys. You failed to tie yourself to her. You failed to procure a dragon. You failed." Arianne finally turned, glaring at Quentyn for a moment before she pulled a scroll from her sleeve. "From Father. Your new orders."

Quentyn glowered at Arianne darkly before grabbing the scroll from her and unfurling it. His eyes scanned the parchment quickly before he looked up to her with parted lips.

"He cannot mean it."

"But he does." Arianne said bluntly. "You are to win a place in the Kingsguard."

* * *

Jon tightened the straps of one of the large satchels that had been attached to Rhaegal's saddle. The three dragons took up so much space on the garden terrace that only a few others could join them up here. Tyrion Lannister, Missandei, Grey-Worm, Brown Ben Plumm and Homeless Harry Strickland stood in the shelter of the grand archways that led out to the terrace from the Pyramid. Bran had already been assisted into his saddle, with his wheelchair unfortunately having to be abandoned here in Meereen. Bran's saddle was different from Dany and Jon's, with its special design that kept Bran's legs strapped in and his back upright.

Daenerys was dressed in riding leathers of likes she had not worn in years. She herself stepped back from caressing Drogon's massive scaly head to turn and face her advisors, guards and commanders.

"I still struggle with leaving Meereen behind. But to know that my city will be stewarded by you relieves me of much worry. Thank you, all of you. I will not forget this when I return." Daenerys smiled at them all, before approaching Tyrion Lannister, Grey-Worm and Missandei specifically.

"Word of what happened to the Sons of the Harpy will surely have reached the rest of Slaver's Bay by now. Yunkai, Astapor and Volantis will be temporarily cowed from instigating war. But if word reaches them that I and my dragons have left, then you could be faced with a siege."

"It would not be the first time I defended an ancient city from hostile forces, Your Grace. But I intend to keep your enemies believing that the dragons remain in Meereen for as long as I can, so that we may fortify the city walls as best as we can."

"What of the people? The villages? Could they not be attacked?" Daenerys asked worriedly as Jon gripped the rope ladder on the side of Rhaegal's saddle to haul himself into position.

"I intend to avoid hostilities as best as I can, Your Grace. If avoidance fails, then negotiations will be my next tactic. Something I happen to be exceedingly good at."

"It's true. He convinced Robb to let him live after all." Jon called from atop Rhaegal. Dany glanced over her shoulder to Jon before turning back to Tyrion.

"I will return as soon as I can."

"Fear not, my Queen. You have three companies fighting for your cause." Homeless Harry said.

"Keep to the seas and avoid being spotted in Slaver's Bay if you can." Tyrion said before bowing.

"We will. Thank you, Lord Tyrion."

"Thank you for believing in me, Your Grace." Tyrion smiled before Dany turned on her heel to march over to Drogon. Her dragon peered at her and unleashed a soft croak before hunkering down to allow Dany to climb atop her.

Dany grasped her reigns, before glancing once more to the three she was leaving behind to rule in her name.

"Fare well, my friends."

" _Fire and Blood_!" Homeless Harry called out, raising his fist to the air. The others echoed him, causing Dany to clench her jaw in gratitude before she inclined her head to them.

"Let us fly." Bran said from the fore.

"Keep to the west, Bran. Stay close." Jon cautioned before Bran spoke quietly to Viserion. The Lord of Winterfell slumped against the back of his saddle with his eyes rolling upward. Viserion raised his head to unleash a dragon's scream, and under Bran's control the dragon began to move forward hurriedly to dive off the edge of the terrace. Viserion unfurled his wings to catch the wing before rising high into the sky. Jon did not warg into Rhaegal as Bran did, and instead whispered in Valyrian and grasped his reigns before Rhaegal mimicked Viserion's actions exactly. Jon joined Bran in the air, flying due west. Dany hesitated for less than a moment before she ran a hand along the back of Drogon's scaly neck.

" _Sōvegon."_ Dany whispered, causing Drogon to begin moving forward in the same manner as her fellow dragons did. Drogon did not need to catch the wind, for her wings were large and powerful enough to propel her upwards instantly. Quickly Daenerys not only caught up with the Starks, but moved ahead to lead the trio atop Drogon.

* * *

Farrick, chieftain of the Frozen Blades clan, let out a long belch that sent his clansmen into a fit of drunken laughter. Eight or nine of them sat around a fire by the wooden wall that the Free Folk had erected between themselves and the Haunted Forest. The Blades clan had been granted a small stretch of land in front of Greyguard to build their cabins, they had instead threatened and blackmailed lesser ice-river clans to build their cabins for them. Farrick remained a sharp thorn in the side of Lord Commander of the Night's Watch Donal Noye and King-Beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder, having conducted nighttime raids on neighboring free folk tribes for supplies. Nothing could be proved, and peace was tenuous at the best.

"To Mance Rayder!" Farrick hiccoughed as he stood up shakily to raise his horn "The first King-Beyond-the-Wall to kneel." Farrick then spat a glob of phlegm into the snow, making his feelings about Mance Rayder clear. Farrick's clansmen laughed raucously as Farrick himself smirked and rose from the ornate wooden chair that he had stolen from a neighboring village. He tossed his empty mug at one of his men.

"Fill her up. I need ter piss." he said in crude, hoarse voice. Farrick was a man with a full, long beard but no hair on his shining, bald head. Clad in the white and grey furs that Wildings were famous for, the garb hid his brutish, stocky physique from those who dared to challenge him. He liked it that way. He appeared a fat, bald man, but was truly a muscled, psychopath capable of decapitating a man with his bare hands.

Farrick stumbled his way past the wooden wall that he and his clan had helped to erect into the woods of the Haunted Forest. He laughed at his own joke as he fell drunkenly against a barren tree. He spat out another glob of saliva as he fished his cock out of his pants. Propping his arm against against the tree, Farrick leaned his head against his forearm as he began to piss.

The chieftain remained unaware of the evil that lurked in the forest before him.

They blended into the night and into the forest as though they were made to be there, invisible they were to man unless they looked for them. Four of them had been sent by the Lord of Darkness, the Herald of Evil, the Night's King, they had been sent to evaluate the defenses of man. They were clad in the black armor that they had once worn when they served the Night's Watch, but their bodies were twisted far from recognition. They each bore the same bright blue skin, long white hair and short cropped white beards. A mortal would never have been able to tell them apart.

The first White Walker positioned himself to the north, watching Farrick the Chieftain with burning eyes of blue ice. The second Walker crept to the east, creating a sword of ice in his hands when he spotted Farrick in front of him. The third Walker moved to the south, with his back to the wooden wall he crept closer and closer to Farrick's exposed back with a frozen sword in his bright blue hand. The last Walker moved to the West, and did nothing but watch his companions close in on the brutish wilding. This Walker was the leader of the party, though no mortal could have ever discerned that.

The last Walker communicated silently to his companions to attack. Swift as the night and cruel as the cold, the Walkers pounced on Farrick. Limb from limb was the Chieftain ripped apart, unleashing a horrible, gurgling scream as he was dismembered. Frozen swords of ice were embedded into Farrick's body as blood spluttered from his mouth and gagged his screams. The powerful brute of a man collapsed to his knees and looked up pitifully to the three Walkers who stood above him silently. They stepped aside to allow their leader to come forward, his steps made no sound in the snow, but when he raised his hand to create an ice sword from nothing, the air crunched and crinkled horribly around it. The last Walker stood above Farrick, Chieftain of the Frozen Blades and tilted his horrible blue head. Farrick gurgled, dark red blood and bile spilling over his lip and down his chin before the last Walker sliced Farrick's head off with a single swipe of his frozen blade.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Just a short update because the last chapter was 8000+ words long. Hope everyone enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing Robb and Margaery reuniting.**

 **Do leave a review if you liked it :)**


	32. Chapter 32 - Not A Soul To Hear

_**Author's Note: Sorry for the long absence, my dear readers. Here is the next chapter! I tried to work on this for a really long time, I hope you like it.**_

* * *

The citizens believed that the return of King Robb's fleet meant good tidings for the winter that was increasingly taking hold of Westeros; temperatures were dropping, heavy snowstorms had already engulfed the North, the Vale and the northern edge of the Riverlands. Reports had managed to reach them from the Iron Islands that a majority of the Iron Fleet had been frozen in the bays. Maintaining a façade that all was well proved increasingly difficult.

Robb had not had much time to enjoy being home and being with Margaery before he had to return to ruling Westeros. When he had found out that Jaime Lannister had made an attempt on Margaery's life, the Young Wolf had gone into a black rage that those closest to him had never before seen. He had needed a full day and night to compose himself before recalling the Small Council to his solar, where he had been holding his meetings of late so that he could be close to Margaery and the babies.

Robb tapped his fingers atop his desk, his other hand tightly gripped the arm of the high-backed, ornately carved chair he sat on. He was dressed in a slightly dirty white tunic, his normally well-trimmed beard was scruffy and untamed. He was clearly tired, and it was due to Robb insisting that he assist in Margaery in caring for the twins in the late hours. Something that not many Kings, not many Lords, and not many fathers had done in the current day and age of Westeros. Margaery herself was a mother unlike many in the realm; refusing to give her children over to the wet-nurses unless absolutely necessary and choosing to be actively involved in the rearing of her children.

"What word do we have of Jaime Lannister's current strength?" He finally asked, breaking a tense silence. His council awkwardly avoided his gaze, none of them having the courage to answer him.

"Collectively, you control more spies than anyone else in the Known World. I have been away for months, and I'm to understand that you have learned _nothing_ in that time?"

"We are trying, Your Grace." Varys replied in an abashed tone.

"Well, _try_ harder." Robb's stern tone caused Varys to bow his head once more.

"Reports from Lord Brynden and Ser Garlan indicate that they have been harrying and bleeding the rebelling Westernmen with prejudice. Ser Garlan reports at least a hundred dead, with twenty in his custody since he has begun his campaign. Lord Brynden reports over a hundred dead with few survivors." Grand Maester Rickard reported with his hands clasped before him.

Robb massaged his brow with one hand and did not raise his head until Davos Seaworth spoke. "It seems the Blackfish is more interested in dead lions."

"As am I. Who did Lord Tyrion leave in his stead at Casterly Rock?"

"Ser Daven Lannister is serving as acting-Warden of the West and Damion Lannister is acting as Castellan of the castle." Rickard said off the top of his head.

"Daven is not to be trusted, Your Grace. You killed his father Stafford. Or, well, Grey-Wind did…" Smalljon Umber had returned to the intimidating grey armor of the Lord Commander of the City Watch, he held his helm under one arm and stood towering over his fellow councilors as he spoke in his deep Northern tones.

"When did that happen?" Robb asked with a furrow of his brow.

"At the Battle of Lannisport, my King. Stafford was the commander of the reserve Lannister forces that the Northern army defeated at Oxcross while we were traveling south to treat with Renly." Dacey explained, glancing from Smalljon to Robb. "My mother said Stafford was never found that day. He fled to Casterly Rock where he raised more levies in reserve until he rode out to aid Lord Tywin. Grey-Wind…well-…"

"Grey-Wind tore him to pieces." Robb finished, only for Dacey to shake her head.

"Worse." Dacey stated, causing Robb to sigh.

"Excellent." Robb sighed before sitting back in his chair to look at the council. "What word of Kevan Lannister? Tywin's brother?"

"At the Wall, Your Grace. Sworn into the Night's Watch with thousands of other Westernmen." Varys reported causing Robb to chew his bottom lip.

"I only wanted to see the numbers rising when we sent these men to the Wall. I knew that we would have to one day face the fact that these numbers are Lannister numbers." Robb said, rising from his chair to turn and place a hand on the stone walls as he looked out his window at the city.

"Daven Lannister is the only surviving Lannister with military experience. With his name, the men of the western army listen to him more than anyone else. We need him." Rickard said, glancing from his fellow councilors to the King's turned back.

"We need him alive. If another Lannister falls at my hands, then their army will crumble and we will have zero support from the Westerlands when we march. I need him." Robb sighed.

"So he must be brought to our side, he must be convinced to serve us loyally." Davos Seaworth reiterated.

"He must be bought." Arianne Martell spoke for the first time that day, drawing all eyes to her. The Princess glanced to the council beside her before clearing her throat and continuing, "He is Lord Tyrion's cousin; Stafford was brother to Lord Tywin's wife, they are a distant branch of the family that was probably given a small allowance under Tywin's reign. Daven is a warrior and has little desire for the actual burden of being Warden of the West, isn't that what you said when we learned Lord Tyrion left him in charge?" Arianne asked Varys directly, who seemed slightly taken aback.

"Y-yes. That's true…Daven-…Daven wishes for a comfortable life. And a long one." Varys looked from Arianne to Robb who had turned to glare between the Spider and the Dornish Princess.

"Bribery?" The word was poison in his mouth as he looked between Arianne and Varys with blue eyes that gleamed vividly in anger.

"The carrot or the stick, Your Grace. We spoke of this when you first took the Iron Throne. The way of Winterfell is not the way of Westeros. If you want the Western army, you need Daven on your side. If you want Daven, you need to give him lands, income and a title." Varys said quite calmly.

Dacey Mormont shook her head silently whilst Smalljon Umber and Barristan Selmy averted their gazes to the ground. Rickard looked visibly uncomfortable, and Robb could see that even Willas Tyrell had an apprehension in his eyes. Only Davos, Varys and Arianne seemed unfazed. Robb knew that the decision was his, but what irked him was the rest of the council's willingness to let it be his decision. He had chosen these people for their honesty, their valor, their strength of character. He did not want sycophants.

"Robb…" A strong voice came from behind the assembled council, who all turned as one to see Queen Margaery standing in the doorway of the solar with Loras behind her. Margaery was clearly exhausted, but had a determined radiance about her as she tightened the Myrish silk robe she wore and walked into the room to stand beside her husband. The Small Council all respectfully bowed their heads to greet her with a chorus of ' _Your Grace_ 's.

"They're right, my love. It is not the way of honor, but winter has come in full force. We need all the numbers we can; you know that better than most. A small lordship to a Lannister in exchange for the Western armies during the Long Night is a fair trade." She said gently to Robb after holding his hand for a short moment. Robb and Margaery gazed at each other briefly before the Young Wolf turned his head to look at the council.

"I did not take the Iron Throne to fall into the traps of my predecessors. Corruption leads to the fall of any dynasty, be it Targaryen, Baratheon or Lannister. I will not have the Starks join that list." Robb stated strongly. Varys' shoulders sagged only slightly as Arianne's own gaze now fell to the floor.

"But…" as a group they all looked up to Robb to see he was gazing at Margaery "My House will fall if I am not smart enough to protect it." He sighed, stepping forward to grip the edge of his great desk with both hands.

"Send for Daven Lannister." Robb said, looking up over his brow to speak to Varys, who nodded once in acknowledgement.

"What further business do we have?"

"The situation in the Iron Islands is deteriorating, Your Grace. Three more ravens arrived today from the Ten Towers, Blacktyde and Hammerhorn." Rickard took the opportunity to deliver his own report. Robb returned to his seat to drum his fingers on the desktop.

"All attempts to break their ships from the ice have failed. I am told that the nobles of the Iron Islands have locked out the commonfolk from their castles and are hoarding the food for themselves. Shelter is scarce and the cold is the biggest killer at the moment." Varys said.

"My father's also managed to get word to me, Your Grace." Smalljon Umber spoke again, clearing his throat reluctantly before continuing. The Greatjon Umber had been left as acting-Warden of the North in Robb and Jon's stead. He had ensured that the shipments of dragonglass traveled through the North safely and peace remained in the North as winter descended. "The snows in the North are unlike any he has seen in his life. He says he has given the Northmen leave to stay in their keeps and see out the storm, unless you give order otherwise."

"No. The Northmen should see out the storm as best they can. But once it passes, we will start establishing our supply lines to the Wall. Until then, it is time for the south to prepare for war. We must send word to Lord Mace at Highgarden and Prince Oberyn in Sunspear to prepare their levies to march North when I call the banners."

"Who will you leave in command of King's Landing defence, Your Grace?"

"The Blackfish, assuming this travesty with Jaime Lannister is finished with when the time comes." Robb sighed, massaging his brow for a moment before he froze in his movements. The Council did not notice, but Margaery did, and she made to place a concerned hand on her husband's shoulder before Robb leapt out of his seat to cross the room towards the map table.

"I have an idea…" the King said, not looking up to see that his companions were staring at him with concern.

* * *

Word was spread around the Seven Kingdoms as far as ravens and rumors could travel. King Robb had recalled Ser Garlan Tyrell and the Blackfish to King's Landing with all haste. More quietly however were murmurs that former Queen Cersei was to be transported by carriage to Winterfell. Whispers that King Robb wished for the Kingslayer to focus on the harsh North rather than King's Landing flew fast and furious in inns across the Kingsroad.

It might have been two weeks after King Robb's return when a party of thirty Grey-Cloaks escorting a fortified carriage approached Lord Harroway's Town. The town, once a bustling trade hub of the Riverlands before the War of the Five Kings, was desolate and ghostly. Magnificent townhouses and well-built cottages rotted as weeds crawled up their walls. Cersei Lannister stared through the iron bars of the carriage with green eyes that once burned with an enticing fire. Dressed in one of her old gowns, the once beautiful Queen had the garment hanging off her ragged body. It had been many months since Cersei had given up hope of rescue, given up hope that House Lannister would rise from the ashes to crush the wolves once and for all. She realized that Tyrion had fulfilled the prophecy the old witch had told her so many years ago. The little wretched stump had strangled the life out of her, out of Jamie and out of their father. Tyrion sat on the Small Council, Lord of Casterly Rock and lauded by the damned Starks while the true Lannisters rotted. Tyrion had betrayed them all.

" _Hold_!" echoed the voice of the Commander of the Grey Cloaks. "Make camp, lads!" Cersei furrowed her brow only slightly, for in the far recesses of her broken mind she recognized the tactical folly of making camp in such an open area. Far be it for her to correct the Stark's men. She heard the chopping of wood and general hubbub of soldiers talking for several long minutes until the horses began to neigh frantically. A warhorn sounded from the southeast and Cersei looked up slowly as screams and shouts began to ring around her carriage.

One hundred and fifty rebels in boiled red leather armor and scratched, worn Lannister plate burst out of the abandoned houses and cottages of Lord Harroway's town, bearing bitter steel against the overwhelmed Stark force. Jaime drove his sword through a Grey Cloak's belly, a twisted smirk on his features as he let the body drop before him to form a puddle of blood at his feet. The Kingslayer had changed in the months of his rebellion. His hair was long and untamed, matching a beard that made him look like a fierce, deranged lion. He looked up with spots of another man's blood on his cheek to see that the Grey Cloaks were running away…that was odd. When he'd been freed by his men, the Grey Cloaks had fought to the last man. Jaime thought little of it as he strutted across the overgrown grass path to the carriage where Cersei was being kept.

"Hello, sweet sister." Jaime called, his tone light and airy. He took a step back to bring his sword down with a smash upon the lock that kept Cersei's carriage door shut. Jaime smirked, placing his hand on the door handle only to freeze.

A warhorn echoed from the west, before another one joined it from the east. The sharp, swift blows of the horn were familiar, and Jaime Lannister at once cursed himself for being so foolish. Had he not learned? Robb Stark was not a green pup. If he failed something once, he was certain not to repeat it. Jaime turned with a violent roar to see the abandoned Lord Harroway's Town was swiftly being surrounded by men flying crowned direwolf banners. On Jaime's left, Ser Garlan Tyrell was mounted on his horse with his sword in hand, on Jaime's right Lord Brynden Tully was mounted and pointing a bow straight for his head.

"Jaime Lannister, in the name of King Robb Stark, you are ordered to cease and desist! Put down your weapons, and order your men to do the same!" Ser Garlan called as the Stark army slowly enclosed the circle in which Jaime Lannister's rebels were contained. Several of them tried to attack in retaliation but were overwhelmingly outnumbered. The Lannister rebels dropped like flies as Jaime glanced between Garlan Tyrell and Brynden Tully with a mad look in his eye.

"I'd love to please you, ser. But I'm afraid I have a prior engagement." Jaime said with a bow. "ATTACK!" Jaime roared, sending all of his men charging out at once whilst he swiftly wrenched the carriage door open to see Cersei staring blankly at him. Jaime's jaw dropped in amazement, Cersei was a shell of her former self. This was not the woman he loved. Not anymore.

"Come. Quickly!" Jaime urged of her as his men were decimated by the Stark army. Cersei looked at Jaime as though he were a ghost, and instead shrunk further back into her carriage away from him.

"Oh Seven Hells!" Jaime exclaimed, moving into the carriage to roughly grab Cersei's arm to drag her from the carriage.

"Get your senses together! We have to move!" Jaime ducked to dodge a flying arrow before charging past men that were dying on his order with Cersei's hand in his own. He stopped as a charging Stark infantryman ran up to him foolishly, only for Jaime to drive his sword through the man's open mouth. The Kingslayer meant to withdraw his sword but swore loudly when an arrow hit his gauntlet, causing him to drop the hilt of the blade. He turned to glare at the Blackfish briefly as he pulled Cersei again into the woods.

"WE GIVE NO QUARTER!" Brynden Tully roared as he fired arrow after arrow from atop his horse.

"FIND THE KINGSLAYER!" Ser Garlan roared to his men as he scalped a Lannister rebel with a single slash of his sword.

Jaime sprinted as fast as he could, dragging Cersei's frail form behind him until he heard a terrible, familiar sound of an arrow piercing flesh. Cersei stumbled and flew into his back, knocking both of them into the dirt and tumbling down a bank by the Blue Fork river. Jaime groaned painfully, having hit his head on the fall down, he did not initially hear the choked sounds that Cersei was making. When he looked up to see her grasping at her throat, his eyes widened in horror. A broken arrow was protruding from between her fingers, and blood seeped down her chest.

"No. No, no, no! NO! CERSEI!" Jaime screamed, launching forward to cradle Cersei's body as she choked for breath and gagged on her own blood. Jaime had tears in his eyes as he thought frantically about what he could do. Cersei's eyes were filled with pain and fear and with what strength she had left, she miraculously managed to wrench the arrow out herself. Jaime stared in shock as Cersei gurgled two words.

"End…it…" she begged.

Ser Garlan's men found Jaime Lannister cradling Cersei Lannister's lifeless body, his hands were marked with blood as her throat was marked by his palms. For years Cersei had thought that when Maggy the Frog had said that valonqar would choke the life from her, the old witch had been talking about Tyrion. But valonqar meant little brother, and Jaime had been born after Cersei, Jaime had been the one after everything had been taken away from Cersei to wrap his hands around her throat and end her pain. Jaime had killed his twin sister, and the only woman he ever loved.

* * *

Robb sighed, standing in the Small Council chambers with his hand on the mantelpiece, he stared into the fire with a small shake of his head.

"I did not mean to sacrifice her life." He finally said, watched by the members of the Small Council who remained to him.

"She was bait, Your Grace. We all knew the risk…and in the end…it was Jaime Lannister himself that killed his sister." Lord Varys said in a comforting tone.

"After an arrow from my men pierced her throat, the details do not escape me, my lord." Robb snapped angrily over his shoulder before sighing. "I apologize. What news of the Kingslayer?"

"Ser Garlan and Lord Brynden are bringing him back as we speak for execution."

"Good." Robb murmured, turning to face the council. "The man tried to have my Queen killed and my heirs murdered before they lived. I will not abide. He must die."

"Aye, Your Grace. There is news from the Stormlands, your new squires are to arrive in the capital soon." Grand Maester Rickard reported from a letter sealed with a yellow wax stamp of a stag's head.

"My what?" Robb asked in a confused tone for a moment before he remembered. "Oh. Yes. The Baratheon brothers. What word of them? How have they fared with their bannermen?"

"Very well, Your Grace. By all reports, Lord Gendry has proven popular in earning the approval of his Lords and their knights alike. Edric has shown aptitude for stewardship and managing a household and both boys seem to be acting more brotherly. A successful experiment, my King." Varys reported with a smile.

"Good news at last." Robb sighed in a bemused tone as he sank into his seat at the head of the table.

"I will take them as my squires. I will need strong lads when I march North."

"Aye, my lord." Rickard bowed his head.

"And we still have no word on Jon and Bran?" Margaery asked from beside Robb, only to have Varys shake his head in response.

"None, my Queen. The latest songs from my little birds are that the Lord Hand and young Lord Brandon continue to assist Daenerys Targaryen in taming her two dragons and searching for the third."

"Time is no longer on our side. Have you sent my message for their return to Meereen?" Robb asked, tapping his fingers atop the table.

"As soon as you gave me order, Your Grace. It is well on it's way across the Narrow Sea."

"The cold winds have risen. Fire is our only hope now." Robb sighed, reaching his hand over to hold Margaery's.

* * *

Many could be forgiven for thinking that it was still summer in Dorne. Many who _weren't_ Dornish that is. Whilst any Northerner would have found the temperatures sweltering, the Dornish saw a marked drop in their climate. The deserts were beginning to be coated by frost in the morning, and the nights were almost as cold as they were in the North.

It was on one of these cold nights that Prince Oberyn of House Martell stood in the courtyard of Sunspear's Old Castle. A large fire was roaring in a steel brazier that had been placed in the center of the courtyard, Oberyn warmed his right hand close to the flame whilst his other hand gripped the dagger that was tucked into his belt. He opened his eyes to have his usual smirk in place. Ellaria Sand was lounging on a low stone wall with a goblet of wine in her hand close by, but it was not her that Oberyn looked at. Nor was it his daughters Obara, Nymeria and Elia, who were also in attendance. Oberyn paid no mind to them or to any of the castle servants, he looked only at an old man with an unkempt hair and beard, an old man who was thinning and haggard, an old man who was broken and defeated after months of captivity.

Tywin Lannister was the Lion Lord no more.

Oberyn circled the chair that Tywin was shackled to, looking at the man with an unflinching gaze as he hummed a song. It was a song that Oberyn had _hated_ for many years. But now…now he _very much_ liked singing it as loudly as he could.

"And so he spoke, and so he spoke…that lord of Castamere…But now the rains weep o'er his hall…with no one there…to hear." Oberyn smirked, seeing the effect that the song had on Tywin. It was probably the same effect he'd inflicted on his foes for years.

"Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall…and _not_. _A soul_. _To hear_." He finally stopped beside Tywin, and slowly leaned down to speak beside Tywin's head.

"Do you like it?" he asked, watching for any movement of Tywin's features. The former Lord of Casterly Rock bore no scars, no blemishes, not even a bruise. Oberyn had not laid so much as a finger on him. It was not Tywin's body that was broken; it was his spirit. He raised his shaggy head to have dull green eyes take in the horrific scene before him.

A massive skeleton was crucified in the middle of the courtyard. Little bits of rotten flesh and decayed muscle remained on the bones. A dagger was hanging loosely out of one of the hollow eye-socket of the massive skull, and the broken jaw swung slightly in the soft breeze of the night. What was left of Gregor Clegane, The Mountain That Rides, was before Tywin Lannister. Tywin had seen everything that Oberyn had done to Gregor, he had watched as Clegance confessed everything that Oberyn wanted to hear and he waited as Oberyn Martell toyed with him by prolonging Gregor Clegane's torture and death. Tywin had waited for a month for the same thing to happen to him, and it was that fear that had led to his malnutrition.

After some time, Oberyn began to have the guards chain Tywin up on a rack…but simply left him there for hours, sometimes days. Oberyn had no desire to actually physically harm Tywin. It had been more pleasurable for him to affect the Lion Lord's strength of will.

"Tomorrow I ride for King's Landing. You will be coming with me to serve as my…well, servant." Oberyn grinned, folding his arms. "Do you have anything to say to that?" Oberyn asked, grinning wider as the gagged Tywin flicked a hateful gaze over to him.

* * *

 _"Brace yourselves!"_ the sailor called loudly to the people gathered on his dinghy before it bumped against the pier of King's Landing.

"Welcome to the capital, ladies an' gents! Two silver pieces a piece before ye' get off!" the sailor demanded of his passengers. A short, squat man with enormous hands and a hard-ale belly flipped his silver at the sailor before disembarking the dinghy with more dexterity than a man his size should have been capable of. The man wore brown linen robes that were stained with many dark patches. The man pulled off his hood as he walked deeper into the city of Kings, revealing teeth that were stained red, a nose that had been broken more than once, and shocks of white hair growing out of that nose and his large ears. This man was called Marwyn, and officially he was Archmaester of the Conclave, the ruling council of the Citadel. Marwyn was often called Marwyn the Mage, for his specialized area of study was magic and the occult, a study that been gaining more relevance in the past year.

Marwyn had never been to King's Landing before, but one could not assume that by watching the way he navigated the streets with such ease. His hands clasped inside his voluminous sleeves, Marwyn did not stop walking until he stood outside a barracks-like building attached to the fortified walls of the city. Grey Cloaks were milling around, and walking in and out of the door regularly, but very few paid Marwyn attention. He preferred that.

He took a breath before walking into the building, the administrative center of the City Watch of King's Landing. More and more of the Grey Cloaks noticed Marwyn as he walked through their building, something he liked less and less. It was not until he reached the bowels of the building, where a massive, bearded Northman was playing cards with a number of his subordinates.

"Aha! Pay up, pay up, pay up lads! Ye' canna' mess with the Umber luck!" Smalljon laughed as he collected his gold. His joy sobered when his men elbowed him and gestured to Marwyn, who stared at Smalljon with great interest.

"Lord Commander Umber?"

"Aye, that's me."

"My name is Marwyn, ser. And I'm here to help you save the Seven Kingdoms."


	33. Chapter 33 - Secrets of the Freehold

In one arm, Prince Eddard Stark slumbered against his father's chest. In the other Princess Alyssa was doing the same. Robb Stark himself, the King of Westeros, felt much older than his twenty years as he was holding his children and looking out at his city. King's Landing burned with thousands of flickering lights in the moonless night. The cold was overtaking the city, and only the Northmen felt comfortable in the new temperatures. Robb himself was dressed in a light tunic and breeches, where his wife was wrapped in a robe of sheep's wool. He sighed, rocking them both gently before turning his vivid blue gaze to them.

"I will make this country safer for you." He promised them quietly. "You will not know the hardships Westeros knows now. Not while I have breath in my body."

Queen Margaery stood quietly in the archway leading to their royal chambers watching them with a sad smile on her delicate features.

"Be careful not to promise them the world, my love." Margaery finally said, walking forward to kiss Alyssa's head and take her from Robb. She smiled down at baby Ned, stroking her son's cheek with her finger gently.

"I swear they grow more beautiful by the day. I did not think it possible." Margaery breathed, looking into their faces.

"I know what you mean." Robb sighed, placing his now free arm around Margaery's waist and planting a kiss on her head.

"Tomorrow will be a long day, my love." Margaery said quietly to her husband after a few minutes silence. He merely sighed in response. That very morning the Royal Army had returned to King's Landing with Lord Brynden Tully and Ser Garlan Tyrell at the fore, Jaime Lannister in shackles, and the men weary and travel worn.

Not ideal circumstances for a war to come at The Wall.

He had decreed that the men who marched with Brynden and Garlan were to be given boons triple their monthly wages and a fortnight's leave from active service. The men had been greatly pleased by that. Though it did leave the Royal Army at half-strength with just over thirteen thousand men armed and armored and prepared for war at a moment's notice, whilst the rest of the men lingered in the Crownlands whoring, gaming, drinking or simply enjoying the quiet.

"Varys tells me Oberyn Martell marches for the capital." Robb said as they walked into their private chambers, the one room in the castle Robb had extensively ensured was private to he and Margaery.

"My own spies hear that the Martell siblings are scheming amongst themselves as well." Margaery sighed rocking baby Alyssa in her arms before placing her in one of the two cribs in their royal bedroom.

"I am ever thankful that my beloved wife has her own network of spies." Robb said sincerely as he also placed baby Ned down in his own crib.

"You should be." Margaery smiled slyly over her shoulder at him before turning her attention back to swaddling her daughter properly for the night.

"What do Arianne and Quentyn bicker over?"

"Power, my love. As all do." Margaery sighed, walking over to him to check on their son.

"Of course. Are they still planning to inject Quentyn into my Kingsguard?" Robb asked with a scoff. When Margaery had brought him tell of Doran Martell's plan for his eldest son, Robb had laughed aloud. Now the situation was becoming irksome, as Quentyn daily requested audience with Robb. Audience that the Wolf King did not grant.

"Badly so, darling. But it appears that Arianne does not wish to play her family politics. Not for her father or brother at least. She's on her own game, the ends to which I cannot say. She seems dedicated to us, but also to ensuring that she will be a powerful woman in our reign."

"She will rule Dorne, how much more power could she want?" Robb barked from the bath chamber adjacent to their chambers where he was getting undressed before washing his face.

"No one is ever satisfied in the Game of Thrones, Robb." Margaery said, brushing her soft brown hair in front of their Myrish looking glass. Robb wandered over to stand behind Margaery's shoulders in nothing but his breeches. He gently massaged her shoulders before leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"And you, my Queen? Are you satisfied?" he asked her quietly. Margaery had closed her eyes and smiled at Robb's affectionate touch before she turned to give him a sly smile.

"Oh, I mean… I know I shouldn't complain…" she said, barely able to suppress her mischievous smile. "After all, what more could a girl ask for than a royal husband, Seven Kingdoms and two healthy babies?"

"Oh royal, eh? Is that his only virtue? Sounds like a fool." Robb said sarcastically, to which Margaery responded by wrapping her arms around his neck.

"He _is_ a fool." She smirked, before pecking his lips. "But he is also _my_ fool."

"I do not know whether I should take offence." Robb said with a chuckle.

"You should be smarter and simply take me into bed." She said with a laugh.

"Oh well, that," Robb picked her up into his arms easily "I can do." He grinned. Margaery was still too weary from the birth to be intimate with her husband, and Robb was loving and respectful enough not to even broach the subject. And so King and Queen lovingly burrowed themselves into a position where they could watch the fire in their chambers in each other's arms.

"I missed you more than I can say while I was gone." Robb said quietly into her hair. Margaery smiled and grazed her fingers across his bare chest affectionately.

"Did you ever manage to use Grey-Wind?" Margaery asked, as the great direwolf himself slumbered peacefully between the royal bed and the two cribs.

"Once. I think. It could have been a feverish dream for all I know…I have not tried to warg into him since I returned."

"Tell me." Margaery said softly. Robb took a breath as he tried to remember what he saw.

"You were in the garden with Sansa and the other ladies. Arianne Martell came by and you two chatted I think. Something about her younger brother and Myrcella Hill. Then I remember looking up at you…and I growled and you said-…"

"Don't you play the champion." Margaery remembered, sitting up to turn in their bed and look at Robb with wide eyes.

"Yes."

"I cannot believe it." Margaery said, lying back down. "You must continue to practice, Robb. Such a gift should not be wasted."

"Aye. I know." Robb acquiesced. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a long moment before opening them to gaze at the cribs.

"They hardly make a sound." he said quietly in amazement.

"I know. It's _odd_. My cousin's babies never stopped crying."

"I wish not to jinx it, we are blessed with babes who do not cry in the night." Robb laughed quietly into Margaery's hair.

"Oh shame on you, Robb Stark. Because of that I am sure you have cursed our next child to be a crier." Margaery said, tapping his chest playfully.

"Our next child, eh?"

"Aye." Margaery said simply, taking Robb's hand in her own before slowly drifting off to sleep.

Robb remained awake, burdened with worry of what was to came. Would he be around for their next child? Would he be around to even raise Ned and Aly? Would he succeed in preventing the Long Night from consuming his own children? His beloved wife?

He looked down to Margaery asleep on his chest and could not conceive failure at the cost of her life.

Westeros needed to win.

 _He_ needed to win.

* * *

Jon Stark's eyes snapped open as he gasped in surprise. He breathed heavily for a moment, shaking with cold even though he was lying against Rhaegal's warm body. The cold was not from the air, but from his dreams. His nightmares. The sun was peeking over a red mountain far to the east. Circled atop a mountain, far from the Free Cities to the west, the dragonriders camped scarcely with their beasts. Daenerys was still asleep, her back to Bran's as she had a hand on Rhaegal's tail. Bran himself seemed as whole as any man in his sleep. No one could tell that his legs were not his own anymore.

They had been flying for what seemed like the better part of a month, surviving on rations and hunting what they could through the dragons without drawing attention to themselves. They had endeavored to stay out sight by flying over rough barely populated terrain. It had been in an effort to maintain the illusion that the power of the dragons remained in Meereen to dissuade any more attempts at a siege.

Jon gazed up at the lightening sky, thinking about Valyria. They had been flying for only a day or so when they saw the ruined city far below them through the smoking seas. Jon and Dany had not needed to say a word when they glanced at each other to fly down to a broken topless tower that stuck out into the sky like a long dead tree of stone.

"This was once the greatest city the world had ever seen. The greatest civilization." Dany had breathed quietly, looking out at the desolation of the ruined city. The tower they landed on was massive, more than large enough for their three dragons to land and linger. Bran's head was slumped forward as he remained looking through Viserion's eyes.

"I know we should make haste. But I doubt I will ever come this way again." Jon said. Dany and Bran had not needed to hear more before the three dragons lifted off as one to dive down into the ruined city. Down broken, cracked roads of magnificent stone and past buildings that had either crumbled or might as well have. Several towers and buildings stood relatively untouched. One was in the center of the city. A great domed structure that resembled the Sept of Baelor in King's Landing in shape alone. The stone was grey and black from time and fire and the windows were completely gone, shattered by whatever the Doom had been. The dragons landed in the expansive courtyard before a massive set of carved marble steps that led up to the building. Bran remained atop Viserion as a lookout whilst Dany and Jon had ventured into the building. A door that was dozens of feet in length and looked to be made of gold and silver was lying off it's hinges on the ground.

"This is probably worth more than the mines of Castamere." Jon said as they walked atop it to get into the gargantuan entrance hall. Jon and Dany had fallen silent at what they saw. Pillars of black marble rose from the ground to domed ceiling above, some had fallen, but most remained standing. Intermittently there were carved and cracked statues of Valyrian men and women. Founders of the powerful families according the plaques that adorned each statue. Their footsteps had echoed in the hall as they walked along reading the various names. The statues grew smaller and smaller as they walled to the end, until they finally reached a statue of a man that was as tall as Jon was. The plaque simply said:

 _Azor Targaryen I_.

But it was defaced by a crude carving that Jon had not recognized. He glanced to Daenerys to see her face darkened by the vandalism.

"What is it?"

"I forget you cannot read Valyrian, nephew. I will need to teach you. This…" Dany gestured to the carving "Is an old Valyrian word for coward."

"What? Why in the world…?" Jon shook his head in confusion.

"These families, all dragonlords." Daenerys said, gesturing to the grander statues behind them. "Dragonlords who were clearly more powerful and yet they died and our family lived. Why? Why is that?"

"I…I think I remember from my lessons…the Targaryens fled to Dragonstone a dozen years before the Doom. I can't remember the Lord's name…it might have been Aenar Targaryen. He had a daughter who had prophetic dreams I believe. And she predicted the Doom. Aenar listened and moved his family away from Valyria. Perhaps…perhaps that was seen by cowardice by more powerful, arrogant dragonlords?" Jon proposed to Daenerys. She stared at the plaque of Azor Targaeyen for a while longer before silently continuing on deeper into the building. They walked down corridors where the ceiling rose so high it almost made them dizzy. Some archways had completely fallen, allowing no access to the rooms they led to. But some were open.

They found chambers that held dusty old scrolls that were almost completely faded, scrolls that Jon picked up and carefully stored in his satchel. They found chambers that held only magnificent paintings on their cracked walls. Towards the end of the building they entered a large audience chambers where at the far end of the hall forty thrones were placed in a semi-circle.

"What manner of governance did they have?" Jon asked in bewilderment as they walked further in. "I know forty of them ruled. But how did the country not fall into chaos so much earlier? Bad enough when one man or woman rules improperly. But forty greedy, power-hungry people trying to outmaneuver each other?"

"From what I've seen, it does not matter if it's one man or forty. Politics will always be the same. One may start off with the best intentions, but the system seems to inevitably corrupt them."

"I disagree. That hasn't happened with Robb. And it won't while I am his Hand. And you Dany? Are you corrupted from your purpose?" Jon asked as they walked along the audience chamber to examine fallen bookcases and overturned tables.

"Am I? Maybe. After all here I am, away from all I have fought for flying to another country." She sighed running her fingers along the dusty walls.

"To protect what you have fought for. If we do not tackle the Long Night together, then the Others will extend their dark reach across the Narrow Sea to Meereen. Believe me. You are true to your original purpose."

"Thank you, Jon." Dany said, smiling at him as her hand pushed a small stone panel in the wall without her realizing. She started backwards when the wall panel slid aside and a cloud of dust fell out to consume them. They both coughed heavily for a few moments before they saw the small hidden chamber. Jon raised his brows as the sunlight that filtered in from the broken windows in the chamber behind them glinted off the blades in the room.

"Valyrian steel…" Jon breathed, walking forward to a sword rack where five magnificent swords were stacked. Several shields were against the wall, daggers were atop a stone table along with a heavy leather-bound tome. Jon walked forward curiously to lift the cover of the book.

"Its written in Valyrian." Jon said, glancing behind him at Daenerys who was holding a dagger up to the light. She looked over his shoulder and read aloud.

" _I fear that our hubris has grown to great. The fires burn. The dragons grow wilder. Blood flows in the streets of our ancestors. It is my decree as_ …I don't know how to translate this word. It does not mean Emperor or King, but is along the lines of an unquestioned leader."

"Premier?" Jon suggested.

"Aye. _It is my decree as Premier Dragonlord of this span that pages shall be written of our great history. Pages of our magic, pages of our craftsmanship, pages of wars. These books will be sent to each great family and to the Maesters of Westeros in hopes that our innovation will live o-."_ Daenerys was cut off by the scream of a dragon. Both Jon and Daenerys looked up sharply.

"Go!" Jon ordered before taking the book and one of the shields as Dany took a dagger. The two ran as fast as they could through the building to the sound of Viserion's screams. They emerged into the blinding sunlight to see that the three dragons were in flight, hurling their fire at…stone men. Jon and Dany gaped in shock at the dozens and dozens of stonemen affected by greyscale. Viserion unleashed a burst of fire that consume a large group of them as Rhaegal and Drogon circled around in a panic.

"We have to get to the dragons. Don't let them touch you!" Jon warned Daenerys as they hurried down the steps to call for their dragons. This attracted not only the beasts but the stone men as well, who turned as one horrible group to begin charging at them. Drogon however swooped over and pick up Daenerys just moments before the stonemen got to her. Jon was less lucky and quickly brought up the magnificent Valyrian shield he'd taken to block a spear that was thrown at him haphazardly. He drew _Longclaw_ with a single motion and turned to take the head off a stoneman as Rhaegal flew down to set alight the rest of Jon's attackers. The Hand of the King did not wait long to sprint forward and leap onto his dragon's back.

"Fly! Fly!" Jon had roared at the others. They'd barely made it out by the skin of their teeth, but they had come away with great items regardless. Daenerys said that the book they took contained outlines for Valyrian masonry and blacksmithing, practices that had been lost to the centuries. Jon kept the book close to him after that. Daenerys herself was fascinated by the daggers she had taken, and with Jon's help she learned to throw them whenever they weren't flying.

As the sun quickly rose higher and higher, Jon rose to his feet to rouse Bran and Dany.

"Come on. Up we get. We're too close to Pentos to linger here, and too far from Westeros to waste time. We're low on food and water. We need to make haste." Jon said as he helped Bran up to offer him a skin of whatever water they had left.

"No. Give it to Dany first." Bran refused, pushing the skin away and glancing to the Queen who smiled slightly before accepting the skin from Jon.

They saddled up, and before the sun even fully looked over the mountain, the trio flew west. Becoming a small speck in the sky quickly.

* * *

Robb ran his hands through his hair as he jogged down the steps into the training yard where his soldiers were working hard. Dacey and Ser Barristan Selmy were locked in an incredible spar that was watched by many. Robb would have joined the audience if not for the look that Smalljon Umber was giving him from the corner of the yard.

"You look like you're about to sell me a slave. What's wrong with you?" Robb asked as they walked down a small walkway out of the training yard.

"Someone has come to me. He begs secrecy for his own safety and yours. And what he tells me…Robb. You need to hear this for yourself. Will you come with me?"

"Jon…you know I have the execution today. I wish to exercise before-."

"This is important. Your Grace. Please." Smalljon insisted sincerely. Robb looked up into his towering best friend's grey eyes and nodded. A short while later Smalljon was leading Robb into the solar of the Tower of the Hand.

"With the Lord Hand gone, this is the one place with the fewest ears. Marwyn thought it would be best to meet here." Smalljon explained as he closed the door behind Robb.

"Marwyn?" Robb asked in confusion, glancing over his shoulder at his friend.

"Archmaester Marwyn, Your Grace." Robb turned to see that a man had sidled into view. He was short and squat, but he had a thick neck and a hard ale-belly. He had white hair coming out of his nose and ears and his nose looked to be broken more than once. He wore maester's robes but they were patched and dirty from many stains. He had a ring of Valyrian steel on his finger and may links of the same metal around his neck.

"Of the Citadel I take it?" Robb asked raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed, my King. I apologize for having to request your audience in this unorthodox way, but if the Citadel or any of their spies heard why I was here, then we would both be in grave danger."

"What? From the Citadel?"

"Yes, my King. There are secrets about this country that very few are privy to. The Iron Throne has never known them. But I would have _you_ know them now."

* * *

Margaery could tell that Robb was troubled the moment she spotted him. They had not seen each other since the morning, and even then he had not seemed as burdened. She wished to go to her husband, but knew that she could not at that moment. They, along with half the city, had gathered in the stone courtyard where the Guildhall of the Alchemists once stood. In this same spot Robb had taken the head of Joffrey Baratheon. Here he would do the same to Joffrey's true father.

Jaime Lannister was dragged by in many, many chains by dozens of Stark guards. He wore a smirk, even as his face was marred by bruises and cuts from beatings and rocks that were being thrown at him. Robb stood on the platform next to the chopping block, but he could have been a thousand miles away for the look in his eye. Jaime Lannister was more put off by that than the fact he was walking to his death.

"Does killing me no longer get you blood pumping, Stark?" Jaime tried to taunt.

"I have far greater burdens on my shoulders than you, Kingslayer. Thankfully I put an end to you today." Robb retorted, causing Jaime to merely smirk as he was forced onto his knees.

"Ser Jaime Lannister. I gave you the chance to take the black. To be absolved of your crimes so that you may serve the country truly for once in your life. You instead broke free, murdered thirty of my men and chose to become an outlaw. You ordered an attempt on my Queen's life and the lives of my children. You have murdered more of my soldiers when you hid in the woods. There is no vindication for you anymore. I strip you of your knightly title. I deem you a traitor to the realm, a rebel and a murderer. For these crimes I sentence you to die. Would you speak a final word?" Robb asked as Gendry Baratheon unsheathed _Ice_ whilst Edric Baratheon held its scabbard behind Robb.

"Enjoy the top while it lasts, Stark. For whatever rises must eventually come down. Kill me and send me to Cersei. I am done with this world." Jaime said before spitting at Robb's feet and bending over the block. Robb did not sigh, he merely clenched his jaw and took _Ice_. With an almighty swing and the greatest of satisfactions, Robb sent Jaime Lannister's head far from his body.

* * *

"His remains can be sent back to Casterly Rock. Along with Cersei's." Robb said. The Small Council were gathered after the execution. Robb stood with his hand on the mantelpiece as he stared into the fire. Margaery was standing beside him with a hand on his shoulder.

"As you wish, my King." Rickard said with a bow of his head.

"Does someone also care to explain to me what this nonsense with the brothels is all about?" Robb turned, folding his arms. The Council fell silent, exchanging furtive looks before Margaery rolled her eyes.

"It was my idea, Robb. I learned that after Baelish's death they'd fallen into chaos. I sent in our troops to establish order and I left a young girl from Winterfell in charge until Lord Tyrion returned. I believer her name is Ros."

"Ros? A whore from the North who was Theon's constant. How can you trust her?"

"I don't. But she has proven herself loyal. We are seeing profits, my love. And it was you who wished to ensure our crown was financially independent."

Before anything more could be said, a frantic knocking on the door caused the council to look up in confused surprise; it was generally unsaid that the Council was not to be interrupted during a meeting. Robb quirked an eyebrow whilst he simultaneously stood upright and gestured for Ser Loras, who was standing by the door, to answer the knocking.

Loras opened the door to reveal one of the Grand Maester's breathless acolytes on the other side. The young man was bright red from having run clear across the Red Keep, and also from the shame of interrupting a Small Council meeting.

"A t-thousand ap-apologies." The boy stammered as he bowed so low that his head almost hit his knees. Robb glanced from the boy to Rickard, who was clearly embarrassed by his pupil's action.

"Qarlyle, you'd best have a damned good reason for interrupting." Rickard said sternly, marching forth to pull the acolyte up into standing position.

"A raven, Grand Maester. Marked with a seal of urgency." Qarlyle whispered quickly to Rickard, holding out a crumpled roll of parchment that was sealed with the black wax of the Night's Watch, but was also stamped with a red wax seal of two crossed swords over a shield; the seal of urgency. Rickard paled, snatching the scroll from the boy's hands to examine the red seal properly. The Grand Maester shook his head and turned to hold the sealed scroll up for the council to see.

"Open it." Robb did not wait for a single moment, nor did he notice that Margaery's hand had once again found its way into his own.

"Their perimeter is breached…one of the ice-river clans was butchered in the night…their huts were burned and-…and their corpses left as a message." Rickard swallowed the dryness away in his throat, he did not need to read the last line for he knew what it said.

"The Long Night has come. The Night's Watch calls for aid." His soft words might as well have been a clap of thunder for the effect they had on the room.

Robb clenched his free hand into a fist as every gaze slowly turned back towards him. He did not need to look at any of them to know what they were thinking. It was his call, his decision now. He turned his head to look into Margaery's glimmering golden brown gaze, he could see her fear but he could also see her faith. He would later credit the look in his Queen's eye for what he said next.

"Westeros will answer." Three words. Three simple words said with such resolve and tenacity that lit a fire in the hearts of every soul in the room, a fire that made them all stand taller, feel stronger and look at their King in reverence.

"Grand Maester."

"My King?"

"Call the banners."

* * *

The citizens of King's Landing watched as an orange sun began to set in a sky that was a tapestry of blue, pink and gold. They watched hundreds upon hundreds of ravens rise from the center of the Red Keep into the sky. The people stopped in the streets to point in awe, they ran to the roofs of their homes and shops, the children by the beach climbed the rocks and pointed to the sky the same as the fishermen out on their boats. Ravens emerged from the castle in a massive black cloud before spreading out in all directions.


	34. Chapter 34 - Snakes of the Citadel

_**Author's Note: I have been really struggling with insane writer's block since I broke my arm. This took a lot of effort, and I hope you enjoy it.**_

* * *

 _"Marwyn?" Robb asked in confusion, glancing over his shoulder at Lord Commander Smalljon Umber as they walked to stand in the middle of Jon Stark's solar in the Tower of the Hand._

 _"Archmaester Marwyn, Your Grace." Robb turned to see that a man had sidled into view. He was short and squat, but he had a thick neck and a hard ale-belly. He had white hair coming out of his nose and ears and his nose looked to be broken more than once. He wore maester's robes but they were patched and dirty from many stains. He had a ring of Valyrian steel on his finger and many links of the same metal around his neck._

 _"Of the Citadel I take it?" Robb asked raising an eyebrow._

 _"Indeed, my King. I apologize for having to request your audience in this unorthodox way, but if the Citadel or any of their spies heard why I was here, then we would both be in grave danger."_

 _"What? From the_ Citadel _?" Robb questioned with a slight scoff._

 _"Yes, my King. There are secrets about this country that very few are privy to. The Iron Throne has never known them. But I would have you know them now."_

* * *

"Really?" Robb Stark's neutral, stoic reaction clearly was not what Marwyn had been expecting. After all, here he was having traveled across the country to give him one of it's greatest secrets, betraying the Order he was sworn to and the beliefs he had been raised on.

"Well-…yes. It's a-…pretty big secret. I mean-…" Marwyn glanced over his shoulder uncertainly at the towering Smalljon Umber, faltering and furrowing his brow when he saw that the large man was himself maintaining a neutral expression. "I mean _nobody_ but a select few know what I'm about to tell you."

"I've had a few of those secrets in the last few months, ser. I doubt anything could surprise me at this point." Robb sighed moving to sit on the edge of Jon's desk and fold his arms.

"Ten golden dragons say you're wrong." Marwyn proposed.

"What do you speak of, Archmaester?" the Young Wolf asked as Marwyn moved to look over the sealed crystal decanters in the Hand of the King's solar, selecting a fine Dornish red to fill a goblet as he spoke.

"I am told you succeeded in negotiating an alliance with the Mother of Dragons." Marwyn said, toasting Robb with his cup before all but finishing his wine in a single mouthful.

"Are you here to tell me secrets, or report on current events?" Robb asked as his brow furrowed in annoyance.

"A thousand apologies, Your Grace." Marwyn said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve "I never could resist a Dornish beauty."

"Well be sure to seek out Princess Arianne the next time you wish to drink wine and waste time." Robb gibed as he stood up to leave. Smalljon blushed a furious red, knowing that Robb would reprimand him for this. He quickly followed after his King silently.

"I was never told that the Wolf King of living legend was so impatient." Marwyn retorted after the King's retreating back "The Citadel will kill those dragons the moment they land in Westeros if you don't listen to me." Robb stopped with Smalljon half a step behind him.

"What?" Robb called over his shoulder.

"Sit down. Have a drink. I have a long story to tell, and you'll want a drink in hand when I do." Robb exhaled through flared nostrils before he turned and stiffly walked back into the solar where Marwyn was holding out a goblet for him.

"Very good, Your Grace. You have just taken the first step to avoiding all out war and chaos."

"Speak quickly. I already have one man on the chopping block today, I am not hesitant to make it two." The King retorted sharply.

"Charming." Marwyn said sourly as he lowered himself into a chair by the desk. "Did you ever wonder how the Targaryen dragons died out in Westeros the first time around?"

"They are beasts meant to roam the skies and they were kept in a pit. I wonder why they didn't die sooner." Robb shrugged.

"Ah a boy taught by a Maester, I forget. Well, let me tell you the true history of the Targaryen dragons that the Citadel rewrote after they died. The dragons were _free_. The Dragonpit was an open arena where the dragons flew in and out at their desire. The younger dragons were chained until they were trained. Their masters flew them regularly and controlled them far better than the histories give them credit for. They would still dominate the skies above this city if the Citadel had not poisoned their food and water for years."

"Why would the Citadel want to kill the dragons?"

"Because the dragons were magic incarnate and the world the Citadel wishes to build has no place for magic." Marwyn said, spitting on the ground as he did so.

"You're going to wipe that up." Robb said sternly before pointing at him "Continue."

"The Citadel tires of the Monarchy. Since the days of Maegor the Cruel they have worked to destabilize the Targaryens. Oh, my dear King Robb, you will not believe the extent that they have gone through and the patience that they have had. The Targaryens were often mad because Grand Maesters often poisoned their King's with potions that affected the reproduction of each generation of Targaryens and dragons alike."

"You must be joking." The King said half in disbelief, half in genuine concern.

"I only wish I were. Truly I do." Marwyn sighed before taking another gulp of his wine. "When you became King, you were wise to pack off Pycelle. The man was multi-layered."

"How so? He was loyal to Tywin Lannister, we had proof."

"Aye, Tywin. The realm believes it Tywin. I tell you now it was not. Aerys Targaryen might still have lived if Pycelle had not been his advisor. The end of the Targaryen Dynasty was engineered by the Citadel for generations, it was Pycelle who had the final move after years of causing Aerys' mind to deteriorate. Pycelle's hand often slipped over the royal family's meals. There is a reason Aerys became so mad so quickly, there is a reason that Princess Elia could not conceive a third child without dying, and there is a reason that Queen Rhaella threw herself from that tower. After so many years of subterfuge, who could differentiate the 'Targaryen Madness' from poison?"

Robb to his credit was genuinely stunned at what he was hearing, his brows were raised as high as they'd ever been. So speechless was the young King that he merely gestured for Marwyn to continue.

"A Maester is sworn to the serve the castle he is sent to, and when Robert Baratheon took the throne, Pycelle was no fool. Tywin had begun a domino effect when he slaughtered the Targaryen children. The mighty lion would fall, it was not and if, it was a when and you proved that, Your Grace." Marwyn said raising his goblet to toast Robb again before drinking. "A rotten dynasty would fall quickly, and all Pycelle needed to do was play the part of a loyal stooge. He'd been taking bribes since the days when Tywin was Hand of the King for Aerys, why not continue the gold while he served his true purpose? He was a lecherous bastard if there ever was one." Marwyn finished with a snarl before placing the goblet down on the desk.

"Are all the Grand Maesters…in…service to this belief?" Robb asked in a low, quiet voice. Marwyn briefly smiled, clasping his hands together atop his hard belly before he answered.

"It has been exceedingly difficult for me to inject one of my own followers, a loyal man as Grand Maester. The rest of the Conclave believes him to be their true agent. They are wrong. Rickard works to protect you and your family from the Citadel. He is a good man, a true man. And he adores your family. It is at his urging I am here telling you these secrets."

"If Rickard is your man, why did you not seek him out to introduce you? Why me?" Smalljon Umber asked from behind the King.

"Because Rickard's acolytes are agents of the Conclave. He cannot risk exposing himself as loyal to me, for the Conclave believe he hates me. And I cannot risk my presence being known here without an attempt upon my life. You are the King's best friend, one of his most trusted men. I knew I could count on you. You're a soldier. Your men are soldiers. I doubt many of them even know where the Citadel is." Smalljon Umber narrowed his eyes for a moment before shrugging, a small grin twitching within his magnificently bushy beard.

"Can't argue with that." Smalljon said as Robb rubbed his eyes.

"Commander, secure the perimeter if you would." The King ordered, looking up to hold Marwyn's gaze as he spoke.

"At once, Your Grace." Smalljon loyally bowed before leaving to secure the room.

"Not very trusting of your men, Your Grace?"

"I trust Smalljon Umber with my life. But these are not his burdens to bear. There are thing of far more importance and danger that you have to tell me still." Robb answered in the strong and commanding voice that his father had taught him to perfect. What had been a 'Lord's Voice' was now a 'King's Voice'.

"Indeed there is." Marwyn sighed heavily.

"The Conclave intends to build a Westeros with the Citadel as its ruling body. The Archmaesters intend to take control through their various Maesters planted in some of the most important castles in the Seven Kingdoms. Maesters who are responsible for tending to their Lord's health, their children's education, the castle's communication. The nobility practically handed themselves over to the Citadel."

"How many?" Robb asked "How many Maesters belong to the Conclave's ideology?"

"I cannot say for certain. But I am not alone in pursuing the Citadel's original purpose."

"And what was that, Archmaester?" the King questioned with a raised brow.

"When Maegor took control, he planted the seeds for this dark side of the Citadel to take over. Once we were pure. We were scholars. We were scientists. We were healers. We were wizards. We studied the world for the sake of learning. Not to subjugate it to our rule. We were the advisors to the rulers. And we will be again if you do what is right, Your Grace."

"And what is right?"

"You must do something that has never been done in our history. You must seize control of the Citadel." Marwyn leaned forward as he spoke, looking at Robb with every bit of seriousness he could muster.

There was a momentary silence before Robb responded.

"I cannot do that. I don't know how many of my lords and ladies are at mercy to agents of your brotherhood."

"Not mine, King Robb. Not mine." Marwyn said sharply. "I am a Maester of the Citadel. These men, these dark souls who engineer the downfall of this country are…snakes within my order. They hid in the shadows of your lords and ladies for generations, and now they seek to rise. You must destroy them."

Robb exhaled heavily bringing his hand to rub his brow as he contemplated his options for several minutes.

"The only way I could speak to my lords all at once without their Maesters present is when we are at war."

"Then how advantageous it is that you have just so happened to call your banners." Marwyn smirked raising his goblet to Robb once more.

"The Maesters that attend our camps will need to be in service to me. To your ideologies of academia rather than power." Robb said as he stood up to hold his hands behind his back and pace around the solar.

" _That_ , I can do very easily. They always send the untrustworthy Maesters to war. Untrustworthy being those who would never follow the Conclave in their pursuit of dominance." Marwyn placed his empty goblet down on the side table to stand himself, watching Robb with hope in his heart that things would change.

"That is why Rickard was with me wasn't he?" Robb asked, glancing over his shoulder at Marwyn as he stood with his back to the older man.

"Aye. They didn't trust him. And when he came back, I happened to intercept him on the roads. I convinced him to play the part of a disgruntled healer; angry at you, angry at the Citadel. It was through those machinations that he is here attending you, protecting you."

"Then I suppose I owe you the health and happiness of my young family." Robb turned, his tone much gentler than it had been all day. It was warm with appreciation even though his face was still stoically Northern.

"A good King, and a great monarchy is all I ask in return." Marwyn said with a small smile and a bow of his head.

"Stay here in the Tower, I will have my maids attend to you. We will make our plans in the coming days before you return to Oldtown."

* * *

"Robb?" Margaery asked for the third time, her brow raised in growing frustration. They were sat with their children in their private dining chambers, the twins were sleeping in their cribs whilst she and Robb sat across one another at the table. Robb held his knife in hand but had not touched his food since he sat down. Her husband did snap to attention finally, his unfocused gaze sharpening quickly. He blinked several times before he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?"

"I was telling you that Willas has asked if we could move the wedding sooner, a quiet affair before the country marches North." Margaery said, tilting her head to look at him curiously. Robb furrowed his brow, too focused on the problems that he faced in Oldtown and in the North to care any little bit about a wedding, regardless of whose it was.

"Margaery…that is the last thing I care about right now."

"What's wrong? You've been acting odd since before the execution." The Queen said, placing her own utensils down to look at her husband analytically.

"Nothing." He looked up to her, his eyes burning a vivid blue.

"Robb."

"Margaery. Its nothing." He said, his stern Northern tones bringing a temporary tense silence to the room.

"My cousin Lana said she saw you and Smalljon going into the Tower of the Hand."

"Are you having me followed?" he asked in a low voice.

"No. My cousins were simply in the courtyard." She retorted.

"I am not hungry. I have work to do." Robb said placing his napkin on the untouched plate before sweeping from the room before another word could be said. Margaery was startled to say the least, she had never seen Robb act this way. She was unaware that this latest secret her husband had been told had sparked a great fire of paranoia in Robb.

How could he keep her safe from so many enemies? So many dangers? How could he protect their children when he barely knew how to protect himself? He saw daggers in ever shadow, betrayal in every smile of his courtiers. Was this how the Mad King felt?


	35. Chapter 35 - Winter

"It will be foolish to send the Northmen to the Wall first when they need the most time to tend their lands in the cold." Robb stated as he held the edge of the map table upon which he was plotting the march that his United Army would make through the country towards the Wall. He, along with his Small Council, were gathered in the Council Chambers where their normal meeting table was now adorned with a large map of Westeros and the many markers that denoted various factions of the noble armies. Carved wooden wolves heads represented the Stark army and the Northmen, wooden lions heads stood for the West, roses for the Reach, stags for the Stormlands and so on. The King himself had trimmed his beard and wore a fine leather jerkin and his Winter Crown, a heavy wolf's fur cloak was draped around his broad shoulders as he studied his map.

"Dorne's heat is no less harsh to our lands, Your Grace." Quentyn Martell pointed out, having been invited to join the council meeting due to his broader knowledge of Dorne's armies than his sister. He stood in yellow silk and orange satin adorned with the speared sun sigil of his House, two curved daggers of varying length were strapped to his side as he folded his arms to look up at the Wolf King.

"Not the way winter hits the North, Prince Quentyn. Believe me. And I doubt that this will be a normal winter we are marching into." Robb replied.

"I suggest dividing the march, Your Grace." Brynden Tully said from across the table where he was standing with one hand on the hilt of his sheathed bastard sword. As Master of War, and now a Lord in his own right, Lord Blackfish had taken to wearing an updated version of his black scale armor along with a fine cloak of bear's fur that was draped over his new pauldrons giving him a great intimidating presence.

"I was just thinking the same." Robb muttered as he hovered his finger over several Dornish castles and holdfasts. "I would send them in factions. Houses from across the country that have little to no harvestable lands will be sent first to supplement the Night's Watch. Rather than another mass march that leaves half the fields trampled in its wake."

"You will need to appoint Generals quickly, Your Grace. When you had this army united for the first time they were primed and ready for war. Now you will have to guide them from start to end. Not to mention we are expecting every Kingdom to send their army, which will double the numbers we had during the War of the Five Kings." Brynden added.

"I know." Robb remarked as he clenched his jaw and folded his arms. "I took the throne, and with it the role as commander-in-chief of this army. Lord Blackfish, you will serve as Protector of the Realm while I am North, I entrust you with the defense of not only my wife and children, but with this city and our lands." Brynden nodded once, his features impassive. "Dacey will continue to serve as Field General above the other lords and knights I will appoint to command."

"It will be my honor." Lady Dacey Mormont spoke and inclined her head to her King from where she stood in her shining steel chest plate armor that was emblazoned with the bear sigil of House Mormont, her sleeves were a forest green for her colors, and her shortsword and shield were strapped to her back. As Field General of the Royal Army, Lady Dacey was ready for battle at a moment's notice. Smalljon Umber, Lord Commander of the City Watch towered beside her in his own storm grey plate and mail armor. His full pauldrons and golden hemmed grey cloak denoted him as the highest officer of the City Watch. Robb turned to entrust Smalljon as such.

"I will be leaving you the might of the City Watch. Lord Blackfish will have an additional garrison of men under his command that will assist you in maintaining order should you need it." Robb said, Smalljon and Brynden glanced at each other and nodded in understanding.

"Jon will serve as Warden of the North, Lord Umber will join him in command of the Northern Forces. My uncle Edmure may command the Riverlords. I have still yet to meet Ser Daven, but I assume he shall lead the Westerlands."

"Randyll Tarly will want a command for the Reachmen." Margaery said tersely, avoiding holding her husband's gaze from where she was standing across the table. The Queen was dressed in one of her beautiful gowns of a deep shimmering purple with a rare, grey sheep's wool cloak held around her shoulders with a direwolf's head clasp holding it together, her crown was elegantly perched atop her golden brown hair as she finally lifted her head to have a heated stare-off with her husband that bathed the rest of the Small Council in an aura of tense awkwardness. Robb, to his credit, did not hesitate to respond to Margaery.

"He can have one, but he will answer to Ser Garlan as his liege lord and acting-Warden of the South." Robb said, picking up one of the carved wooden rose markers for the Tyrell army and placed one atop King's Landing. Margaery smiled briefly as her brother Willas and Lord Davos Seaworth also consulted the map.

"I would think it wise to garrison a portion of the army at Winterfell." Willas advised, tapping the location of the ancient Stark castle.

"I was thinking the same thing, brother." Robb nodded, walking around the table towards where the Wall was marked with pieces to denote the wildlings and the Night's Watch.

"They have just under a hundred-thousand at the Wall. If Mance Rayder has been training them per our agreement, then I will not need to bleed my own people." Robb said, looking up to his council. It was one of the more ruthless things he had said, but it was not altogether unwarranted. This was a dangerous war they were marching into.

"I also don't wish to have our entire force there to be slaughtered if we are overcome. Thirty-five thousand men will remain here in King's Landing. I will garrison forty-thousand men at Winterfell, fifty at Last Hearth and an additional forty thousand around Mole's Town. If the might of the Seven Kingdoms join me with the numbers we expect, that will leave us almost one hundred and forty thousand men to march to the Wall."

"The Northmen will be needed foremost. They alone command the best skills of battle in ice and snow." Dacey said.

"Aye they will. But they will march with the Westernmen and the Valemen too. The West must earn their respect back in my Seven Kingdoms. And the knights of the Vale are some of the greatest in the realm. Winter hits them harshly in the mountains, they know of warfare in the cold as well as anyone. Am I right, Lord Brynden?" Robb asked, looking up to his Master of War.

"You are, Your Grace. I served House Arryn more than long enough to know firsthand." Brynden growled in that rough tone of his.

"Good. Then I ask you to begin drafting the Houses into formation with Lady Dacey."

"At once, my King."

"Lord Varys, what word of our supply lines?"

"The last songs I heard were of Last Hearth doubling the intended stockpile of food for the army that has been sent North. The castles of the Wall have mostly met their own targets as well, our shipments of dragon glass weapons have readily armed the Night's Watch and most of the wildlings. I am told blades aplenty await the United Army upon their arrival."

"Good. Send word to Dragonstone to increase their output as much as possible. Any man who _can_ carry an obsidian blade _should_ carry one." Robb said, standing upright in time to see Margaery rise from her chair and bow her head to their council.

"I will take my leave of you, my lords. Your Grace. I feel there is little and less I have to offer in counsel for the logistical preparations." She looked back up to Robb, who curled his lips as the rest of the council fell silent and looked between King and Queen. Both of them knew that Margaery had never failed to give needed advice in times like these, but this was part of a much bigger problem between husband and wife. Robb, stubborn as he was, refused to give in and merely spoke tonelessly to reply to her.

"As you wish." He said, causing Margaery to exhale once before gracefully leaving the room.

* * *

Unlike Kings and Queens of old Robb and Margaery did not put on a façade for the court during their arguments, thusly it was no great secret to King's Landing that they were fighting. Margaery was often absent when Robb held court, and they were not seen dining together as they usually were. The only time they spent together was when they were with their children, and even then they barely spoke to one another. This tension between them had gone on for three or four days since Jaime Lannister's execution and the calling of the banners. Lasting into the Small Council meeting earlier this very day.

Margaery was upset that Robb was not only keeping secrets from her, but that he had been harshly dismissive of her when she had repeatedly tried to get him to open up to her.

Robb on the other hand was frustrated that Margaery would not grant him the respect to keep things to himself for a while as he tried to sort through his thoughts on the seemingly endless line of traitors in his country.

The arrival of Ser Daven Lannister, acting-Warden of the West, to King's Landing and word that Prince Oberyn was only a few days from the capital did not do anything to ease the stressful and tense atmosphere of the Red Keep that night.

Robb was sitting alone in his solar, his elbows atop the table, his hands clasped together and pressed against his lips as he was deep in thought. Ser Barristan Selmy was standing as his guard to the side of the desk. The Bold knight marveled at how he had once stood in this very position, in this very room across another King in a similar manner. Back then Robert Baratheon had been his King, and often Robert would drink himself into a stupor and rehash old war stories with Ser Barristan. The older knight almost missed those raucous and irresponsible sessions in contrast to this silence he had been experiencing. King Robb was not a man who often voiced his thoughts, he was almost impossible to read and Ser Barristan could not guess in the slightest what the Young Wolf was thinking about.

It had been driving him mad.

"Your Grace." Barristan didn't realize he was going to speak until the words had left his lips. Robb Stark's blue gaze flicked upward to focus on the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard.

Barristan cleared his throat before he continued.

"May I speak freely?"

"On what, Ser Barristan?" Robb asked in a soft, low tone.

"You." Ser Barristan's answer caused Robb to raise an eyebrow and tilt his head. "Your Grace I have served you for nigh on a year now, I like to believe that in that time I've come to know you well."

"I would say so. No one spends more time by my side." Robb replied wryly as he sat back in his chair to observe the older knight.

"And in that time, I've come to see you at your best…and at your worst. At your best, you are wise, compassionate, strong and determined."

"And at my worst?" Robb clenched his jaw, tapping his thumbs together as he awaited an answer. Ser Barristan did not speak, he merely raised a gloved hand to gesture at Robb in his seat and pursing his lips. No words were needed for Robb to understand. The Young Wolf let out a bemused exhale through his nose as he pushed his chair back to stand and turn his back on Ser Barristan, looking out instead to the city.

"I do not wish to overstep my place, but I swore to serve a true monarchy for the remainder of my life, a good monarchy. I have served enough terrible Kings to recognize the first steps towards a fallen House." _This_ made Robb turn swiftly to look at Barristan.

"A fallen House?" he asked, almost offended.

"The King and the Queen _must_ be united. You and Queen Margaery proved that yourselves. Together the two of you worked together to rebuild our country, to restore power to the Iron Throne. Even whilst you were away, you were united. You fought for her and she for you. But now…now the castle is on a blade's edge. The servants are afraid to approach either of you, the guards even more so. The courtiers know not what has happened and form their own rumors. Rumors that will spread far and wide and breed dissent in the Seven Kingdoms. You both earned the love of the smallfolk because you love each other. You were both a warming sight to the people. Four days have passed and already there is fear in the streets of the city. Fear that House Stark is about to follow the path of House Targaryen and House Baratheon. I urge you-…no I _beg_ of you to not let that happen." Barristan's passionate plea had caused to Robb to look back out to the city for a moment before he bowed his head. He did not like fighting with his wife, not when she was his rock in times like these.

"Do you even know why Margaery and I are fighting?" Robb asked, not turning to look at Barristan for a moment.

"I am often by your sides, Your Grace. The Queen is being very insistent that you're keeping something from her, and you yourself are not happy being interrogated." Barristan summed up their problems so succinctly that Robb gave a half-chuckle.

"It sounds so…silly when you put it that way." Robb finally said, sighing as he returned to his seat and placed a hand atop his desk.

"Not to offend, my King…but it is. I may not know what burdens you, but I do know it is not like you to keep things from her." Barristan retorted as he took an unconscious step closer to the desk.

"I would have told her anyway, if she hadn't pressed me and pressed me when I need my time to think." Robb said in a gruffly stubborn manner.

* * *

Meanwhile as Barristan was counseling Robb, Queen Margaery was across the Red Keep in the chambers of Princess Arianne Martell.

"That man…" Margaery muttered darkly as Arianne filled the goblet the Queen was holding out with an expensive Dornish red.

"What do you think he's keeping from you? Another woman?" Arianne questioned as she settled herself beside Margaery on a large, comfy chaise. The Queen, who had been sipping her wine, choked slightly before coughing into her goblet. She looked up to Arianne, her throat burning slightly.

" _What?_ " she said hoarsely. Arianne merely shrugged as she circled the rim of her goblet with her index finger.

"I doubt he would, you _are_ the most beautiful woman in the Kingdoms…but why else would he be so adamant on keeping a secret from you?" Arianne proposed. Margaery clenched her jaw, contemplating the notion that Robb had found another woman, before she scoffed.

"No. No, this may be the worst fight we've ever had…but we still love each other. I _know_ that."

"Do you trust him?" Arianne asked as she raised her goblet to her lips.

"Yes." The Queen answered instantly.

"Then why are you needling him?" Arianne's asked coolly, tilting her head towards her friend.

"I-…" Margaery parted her lips to answer before she realized she didn't have one.

"He's never kept things from me. Even before we were married, he'd tell me everything. Things that he probably shouldn't have when I wasn't even his wife."

"My dear friend, I'm going to be brutally honest. I've seen the two of you for months now…and if there's one thing I know…it is that you are both completely, utterly, disgustingly in love." Arianne said in a slightly teasing tone before her expression became more serious "He trusts you in a way I've never seen a man trust a woman in our country. He worries about you in a way that I envy. If he's keeping something from you…maybe it is something dangerous?"

"He keeps saying that…but he's told me things that could have ended both of our lives if he didn't rule as well as he did." Margaery sighed, holding her goblet loosely in her hands.

"Hearing you speak, I can hear how much faith you have in him. Why is your faith preventing you from believing him now? He is the _King_ after all, I can only imagine the secrets that come with the crown." Arianna murmured bringing her goblet back to her pouty lips.

"You have _no_ idea…"

* * *

"Because I give her all the respect she deserves and more. Am I not entitled to keep my thoughts to myself? I don't interrogate _her_ about every bloody thing." Robb's features were contorted into an expression of great frustration as he spoke.

"I wasn't saying you aren't, Your Grace. But I am saying you're being stubborn. You intended to tell her anyway, but now you're choosing not to because she wouldn't leave it alone." Ser Barristan said, sounding like a wise grandfather as he did so. Robb slouched back into his chair to rub his brow angrily.

* * *

"I think you got a taste for power in this game of ours, and you feared that you were losing it." Arianne said as she picked up the jug to pour herself another drink.

"No. That's not it. If I wanted power I would manipulate Robb as my grandmother taught me to do all my life. For the first time in my life, I love a man and I find myself being completely and utterly open with him. I exposed myself, Arianne. I was vulnerable." Margaery had not even known she felt that way, with the words rushing out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying.

* * *

"You don't trust her." Ser Barristan challenged, only for Robb to look up sharply.

"No. I trust her with my life. This is different."

"Its _her_ life." Barristan said with a ghost of smile.

"Oh Gods…" Robb groaned pressing his face into his hands.

* * *

"And it's scaring you that he might not be as open with you as you are with him." Arianne tilted her head at her friend as she spoke before raising her goblet again with a 'You know I'm right' smirk on her lips.

"Oh Gods…" Margaery winced as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

* * *

It took another hour of Princess Arianne and Ser Barristan picking away at the King and Queen's individual arguments before husband and wife had left to search for one another. Missing each other at each location by mere moments they finally found one another when Robb was about to leave the throne room as Margaery pushed the massive doors open to see him. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before Margaery took several tentative steps into the dimly lit hall. The braziers around the massive stone pillars were about to die, but the low flames still managed to cast the throne room in an otherworldly orange glow.

"Hello." She said after clearing her throat.

"My lady." Robb said, inclining his head in greeting, taking several steps towards her in turn until they were just within arm's reach.

They held each other's gazes, Margaery scratched the back of her right heel with her left foot as Robb himself chewed his bottom lip. The weight of the Known World might have been upon their shoulders, but at the end of the day Robb and Margaery were still only young twenty-year-olds navigating a marriage.

Margaery pouted in a slight frown before forcing herself forward despite her insecurities to wrap her arms around Robb's torso. Robb held her close in turn, pressing his face into her hair before they pulled back slightly to hold each other's gazes.

"I'm sorry." Margaery said first in a quiet voice. "If there's something you're not telling me for my own safety…I trust you. I always have."

"Thank you. I'm-…I'm sorry too. Its not that I don't trust _you_ …there's just so much we still don't know about-…" Robb trailed off, his eyes flicking over Margaery's shoulder to the Iron Throne "Well, about that." He gestured carelessly towards the throne. Margaery glanced behind her as her hands grazed gently up to rest her husband's broad chest.

"I know. I know that ruling here has been hard for you. You were raised to be the Lord of Winterfell."

"Aye." Robb sighed.

"But the Lord of Winterfell has ruled this country far better than the twenty-odd kings before him." Margaery said firmly, looking up into Robb's conflicted blue gaze with confidence in warm brown eyes. Robb sighed after a moment, his hands squeezing Margaery's slender waist with affection.

"And he's done it with you by his side. Ser Barristan reminded me that-…well, that without you…I would not have won the war. I would not be here. And we would not have the twins." Robb's admission caused Margaery to chuckle briefly.

"That's funny. Princess Arianne told me that I would not have been the happy Queen I am today without you." Margaery took Robb's hands in her own, holding them tightly as she continued. "Whatever it is that burdens you…we can get through it. Together. Like we've done since we met."

Robb briefly smiled before he quietly told her everything. He told her of how Marwyn the Mage, Archmaester of the Citadel had sought him out, he told her of the conspiracy that the Citadel had undertaken for almost three-hundred-years. He told her of how their own Grand Maester had saved their lives from Maesters and acolytes who would have seen them or their children harmed. By the time Robb was done the fires in the throne room had died, and the only light they had was the streams of ethereal moonlight coming in from the windows.

Margaery did not speak for several moments, Robb could not tell if his Queen was pale or if it was simply the dim lighting. She finally moved to wrap herself tighter in Robb's embrace. He felt her fear then, as she finally understood why he had been so laden with concern.

Hand-in-hand they retired silently to their royal apartments where after several days apart, husband and wife finally shared a bed once more.

"What will we do?" Margaery asked him quietly as she laid her head atop his chest to hear his beating heart.

"What we do best. Fight." Robb promised, tilting her chin up gently to kiss her. Having refrained from resuming their usual intimate nights since the children were born, the young couple soon found their loving kiss to have deepened into one of lust.

Margaery's silk shift was soon torn off her body, thrown to the stone floor in rags as Robb's hands ran over her naked body as though studying every curve with his fingers. Margaery's own fingers were tightly clutching Robb's dark locks between them as her husband's lips moved from her jaw to her chest. Her breasts were heavy and tender from feeding their children, and Robb's skilled attention on her sensitive nipples caused her to shudder and the heat between her legs to intensify. Though she wanted Robb's mouth on her womanhood, she wanted something else from him far more at that moment. Wrenching him upwards by his hair, Margaery quickly flipped them around to have Robb on his back as she straddled him.

"We have all night…but I _need_ you now." She whispered breathlessly against his lips as frustrated hands worked quickly to loosen the ties on Robb's breeches. He himself moaned painfully when his cock was released from its confines to press against Margaery's soft thighs. His groan turned into a roar of pleasure that was chorused by Margaery's deeply sensual scream when she guided Robb's throbbing hardness into her warm, wet folds. She sank slowly to sit atop him, speared by his member as their hands intertwined and she looked down at his face, his closed eyes and his parted lips.

"I love you, Robb Stark." She said quietly, her voice low from the reverberating pleasure between her legs. Robb briefly opened his eyes and made to speak, probably to respond that he loved her too, but he did not have the chance for Margaery began to bounce atop him with such speed and fervor that the only sounds he made were of joy.

* * *

Whilst the King and Queen passionately reunited in King's Landing, darker stirrings occurred in the Far North. Past the Wall where the Night's Watch worked diligently to prepare for a battle of legends, past the Fist of the First Men and Hardhome, deep into the Lands of Always Winter the Night's King opened his terrifyingly bright blue eyes to survey the scene before him.

This was the heart of the Other's power; the Lands of Always Winter. The blizzards were always so harsh and the temperatures so low that no living man had ever managed to survive here. No living man had ever seen the horrifically beautiful sight of a castle made of ice that rose from the snow-capped ground to the black storm clouds above. Behind the castle itself was an aurora unlike any in the Known World, the colors were dazzling but sinister as they warped and twisted around a massive black hole that was rimmed with a dazzling bright blue exactly like the Night's King's eyes.

Within the palace of ice and frost, down smooth blue hallways illuminated by the black hole's light was a great hall that rose up to the very top of the castle and opened up to the black sky.

A deep chasm that was encircled by a low wall of ice lay directly beneath the open ceiling, foreboding in its cavernous silence. The Night's King lounged on an elaborate frosted throne that was spiked by many deathly sharp icicles. He blinked once, looking above the chasm to his high command gathered in the hall. Three hundred of his… _Children_ stood before him. Their armors were as black as his own, their eyes as blue as his own and their hearts as nonexistent as his own. Only their long, brittle white hair and beards differentiated them.

Of the two-score of his brethren that the Starks had left him following his last attempt, his numbers had swelled significantly. Some were Children of the Forest snatched and corrupted by the dark powers he practiced, most were the offerings of the foolish wildlings; sons given freely for him. _Men_ given to grow strong as his own White Walkers.

He smirked at that thought as he stood from his throne to walk down towards the chasm slowly. Half a bridge had been erected to allow him to walk over the center of the chasm, to look down into the depths of the earth and allow him one last sweet moment to savor the patience he had had to make it to this point. He raised his spiked head to look up at his Walkers, they bowed their heads in unison before dropping to their knees.

The Night's King spread his arms wide, and from within he summoned the power he had built and stored for thousands of years, he called on the Great Other and channeled the power of every one of his children in the hall to part his lips and speak in a horrific tongue that would caused the ears of men to bleed. The castle began to shake and the black hole behind it began to spin faster, its blue light growing brighter and brighter as the howling winds intensified. Within the great hall, the chasm that the Night's King stood over began to come to life. A pinprick of blue light could first be seen before it rushed upwards to fill the chasm and consume the Night's King as a tower of light, wind and horrors rose into the skies above so high and so strongly that it could be seen around the Known World from Dorne to Sothoryos and Slaver's Bay. The black storm clouds momentarily surged towards the tower of light before a monumental clap of thunder expelled a thick, unholy blanket of black clouds outward in all directions.

Winter had come.

* * *

It consumed the wild lands of the Far North in seconds, it took the North in minutes, the Riverlands and the Vale were not far behind, quickly followed by the Westerlands, the Crownlands and the Stormlands. Even the Reach and Dorne were not spared as a continent wide blizzard took hold of Westeros in the space of half an hour, freezing to death thousands of wildlings and men of the Night's Watch, and any poor soul caught in the open when the initial wave struck.

* * *

Robb and Margaery Stark watched in horror from the royal apartments, seeing the blizzard come from the tower of light in the far distance and only just managing to shut themselves and their children in the warmth of their chambers.

* * *

Jon Stark, Brandon Stark and Daenerys Targaryen were flying over the Narrow Sea when they saw it happen. The pulsating wave of dark magic that erupted over Westeros caused their dragons to rear upwards and fight against their masters' control. Bran was expelled from Viserion's mind as Drogon viciously twirled to try and eject Dany off her back. Only Jon regained control of Rhaegal. In time the others did too and joined him to hover together in the sky and watch the tower of light vanish and storm clouds remain over Westeros.

Only Jon managed to speak, even if it was only a whisper.

"We're too late…"

By morning, it would spread to the Stepstones and the Iron Islands, by the week it would consume the entirety of the Known World.

The Night's King stumbled backward as the tower of light instantly faded into nothing, steam was rising off his black armor as he hunched over, pulsing from the power that had surged past him. He slowly lifted his head to spread a terrifying smile.

Westeros was for once unified in it's silence. Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands had been killed when the first blizzard had taken hold of the country. Almost every single castle had been snowed in and the death toll rose with every hour. Unbeknownst to Westeros, whilst heavy snows continued across the Seven Kingdoms, the Old Gods were using every bit of their powers to combat the devastating blizzards that the Night's King was channeling from the Great Other.

* * *

 _**Edit** - The original posting of this chapter referred to Drogon being a male, when I have previously established that she is a female dragon in this story. Sorry for the confusion, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter otherwise. Do leave a review if you did :)_

 _**Edit #2** - " **Death penalty" was corrected to "death toll".**_


	36. Chapter 36 - Chaos in Cold

_**Author's Note:** Hello dear readers, I know it's been a very long time. I arrived home not long ago and began to finish this chapter then the new season started and I realized a number of things I have in this story are bogus. Namely, Daario Naharis is clearly not Benjen Stark. I want to eventually go back and correct this within my story and separate the two characters. Anyway, I'll get into the specifics of this and other changes as it happens. In the meantime enjoy the next installment of 'A Wolf King'!_

* * *

Though Westeros was blanketed in pristine white snow, pitch-black storm clouds rumbled overhead to symbolize the devastation that the country had impossibly suffered overnight. Almost every single castle or holdfast was snowed in, including the Red Keep of King's Landing, which was now frosted in a coat of white snow and ice, hiding most of the red stone beneath. It would have been the early morning if the skies were clear when Robb stood in the entrance hall of Maegor's Holdfast watching his men hack at the ice that sealed them inside with axe and fire. Every man was wrapped in their warmest clothing, including the King who had two furs clutched around him as his breath rose up in misty clouds before his own eyes.

Teeth chattering, Robb looked to Ser Barristan for a report. The white-cloaked knight was red cheeked from the cold and his physical exertion. "T-the ice is f-f-finally melting Your Grace. The w-winds have settled."

"F-for now." Robb growled, walking out as the men finally carved and melted a way out of the Holdfast. Several Grey Cloaks pushed their way out first in front of their King who ducked out to see that the courtyards of his castle were full of snow. He looked above to see the black clouds and tightened the furs around his body as he walked over the drawbridge of the Holdfast towards the rest of the castle complex.

The men were freezing but reacted quickly when they heard shouts from around the courtyard as their fellow soldiers and men-at-arms broke out of the other buildings that had been snowed in. It was clear Robb and his party had not been alone in their efforts to break free from the ice.

"I n-need every n-noble l-lord and lady accounted for in the castle. Find my sisters and the Queen's brothers at once. A-a-assemble t-the men in the t-throne room and light every fire, every torch, every candle in every room. I w-want the castle cleared immediately." Robb ordered to Smalljon Umber, whose great beard was already stiff with frost. His loyal friend bowed his head before turning to bark orders at his men. As Robb, Ser Barristan and a dozen Grey Cloaks made their way through the snow with much effort for the Great Hall the bells of the castle began to toll loudly. It was a message to all those trapped in the castle, and to the citizens in the buried city; _they were not alone_.

"I have never seen a w-winter like this in all my y-years."

"This is not winter, Ser Barristan. It is the L-long Night. We were t-too late. I stalled, and I stalled and they were able to b-bury us. Gods alone know how we have a respite from the blizzard, and how m-many we lost in the night." Robb despaired, blaming himself greatly for taking too long to meet this threat.

"Your Grace…y-you've been doing m-more than anyone could have." Ser Barristan said, the light snow crowning with him in a cap of white that was as pure as his armor and cloak. Robb did not respond as they clawed their way through the snows to reach the doors of the Throne Room.

"Melt this ice, shovel this s-snow away. Give me that torch, Derryn." Robb commanded turning to take a flickering torch from one of the guardsmen to work alongside his men and clear their path. It wasn't long before one of the other groups had broken into the servant's quarters where shovels were found and dispersed amongst the workers who began to shovel the snows into banks alongside the pathways.

Robb worked to take his mind off what had happened. He needed to restore order to his own castle first before he could contemplate restoring order to his country. He had never before thought of the Red Keep in the way he did now; massive, sprawling and too cut off from the other buildings. How many of his courtiers perished or were trapped that he did not know about? Were his sisters safe and healthy? What of the servants? His horses, his hounds…he could have wallowed in self-pity and blamed himself, or he could be where he was now, hacking away at ice and snow to return to his throne. Power needed to be restored to the realm.

* * *

As the King worked with his men below, Margaery and her ladies-in-waiting were clustered together in her chambers where both fireplaces were lit and roaring, offering a refuge for the Queen and her children who were bundled in her arms. They had cried during the blistering cold at first, but were now soundly asleep in her arms. Margaery sat closest to the fire with a heavy bear's fur draped around her shoulders. She was cold, she was scared and she was for once struggling to see a way that they could win this battle. Robb's march was to be hard enough without this blizzard, she could only imagine how much harder it had all just become.

There was a knock at her chamber door causing her brother Ser Loras, who was standing guard inside the room to turn around and open the door a crack.

"It's the Grand Maester, Margaery." Loras announced, pushing the door further to allow the pale and shaking man into the room. He was clearly freezing, as the warmth in the chambers restored some color to his face.

"I am deeply sorry I could not come sooner, Your Grace. I was trapped in my tower all night." Rickard said as he bowed before Margaery.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Rickard. I am most relieved that you are well. Robb is very concerned that we may have lost loyal courtiers." Margaery responded firmly.

"I am afraid that we have already found bodies. My own acolyte Qarlyle was found outside the rookery…" Rickard sighed as he approached the Queen to kneel before her and pull the blankets aside from the babies' faces. He pressed a gentle touch against their cheeks and their small throats to assess their condition.

"They have their health, Gods be good." He finally said before looking up to Margaery. "And you, my Queen? How do you feel?"

"Terrified." She said quietly, rocking Ned and Alyssa back into their slumber. "How is Robb?"

"He is well, but I advised him to limit his time outside." Rickard grunted as he hauled himself up to move towards a quiet Princess Sansa, who sat with her palms in her lap staring into the fire. Sansa had arrived to Margaery's chambers only minutes before, the beautiful redhead had been paler than death and shivering from the burning cold. She had been frantic and voiceless, leading Margaery to force her down and drink some mulled wine. She had still refrained from saying a word.

"I doubt he will listen. We are in chaos, only a fortnight before he intended to march North. Have any ravens managed to come in?"

"None, Your Grace. I fear the winds and snows would have killed any birds in the air last night. I am instructed by the King to attend to you and the rest of the family before sending ravens to the great castles and generals of the army for situation reports." Rickard informed her before kneeling before Sansa.

"She hasn't said a word since she arrived. She was in a frantic state when she came in, has the cold addled her?" Margaery asked Rickard with concern heavy in her tone. Rickard pursed his lips for a moment before placing a warm hand atop Sansa's wrist.

"Princess, are you alright?" Rickard asked gently, snapping Sansa out of her reverie. She looked up to give him a gentle smile and a small nod.

"I-…I believe I am, Grand Maester. But I-…I haven't seen my sister-…" Sansa said, throwing a worried glance towards Margaery who sat up. Sansa cleared her throat to sit up straighter, coming back to her senses quickly around Rickard's comforting presence. "My sister…I couldn't find her. I heard her shouting…but I couldn't get to her. My door-…my door was frozen." Sansa trailed off shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose as he head ached from the cold.

"Princess Arya? I-…I had not realized she was unaccounted for." Rickard said leaning away from Sansa to look at Margaery, who in turn was looking at Loras.

"Loras, who was assigned to guard Arya last night?" Margaery asked at once.

"Ser Ethan…we have-…we have not yet accounted for all my sworn brothers. Ser Robar and Ser Barristan are with the King. But Ser Raynald and Ser Ethan have-…"

"Find them." Loras bowed his head, turning swiftly to stride out of the room.

* * *

Robb watched as the men sparked great fires in the pillar braziers of the throne room. Lord Blackfish and Ser Garlan were facing him as he spoke.

"I want numbers as soon as we can, the men who still live most importantly. As soon as the castle is cleared, you will both accompany Dacey with your men to clear a path to the barracks. The Grey Cloaks and the rest of the servants will be tasked to assist the citizen of the cit-." Robb was cut off by the throne room doors bursting open.

"Your Grace, your sister!" was all that Ser Raynald yelled out before Robb was sprinting towards him. They ran from the throne room, out onto the shoveled courtyards towards the Maidenvault.

"Who is it? Arya? Sansa?" Robb demanded as they entered the building.

"Princess Arya…she is-…she's-…I-…" Raynald struggled with his words, stopping outside Arya's door as Robb himself burst in. Arya was lying atop her bed, her skin tinged blue and her eyes closed. Rickard and his surviving assistant were working frantically around her as Sansa held a lifeless hand from where she sat on the bed beside her sister.

"Oh my Gods…is she…?" Robb couldn't even bring himself to say it, his heart having frozen in his chest at the sight of his motionless baby sister.

"No. Not yet. Her temperature is the lowest I've felt. We call it hypothermia in the Citadel. Our treatment must be aggressive to revive her." Rickard spoke in a flurry as he popped a phial with his thumb before gently easing Arya into a sitting position and tipping the golden brown contents of his phial past her lips.

"We need more fire, more warmth." Rickard said, swaddling Arya in furs as though she were a newborn babe. Her lips, once blue, were very slowly starting to lighten to their usual pink.

"I must stay with her. She needs warm drinks when she awakens. The hot Sothoryon chocolate if possible. My potions can only do so much, her body must warm itself." Rickard said, sitting beside Arya wearily as his acolyte threw even more wood into the roaring fireplace that was close to the bed.

Robb, who had not moved since he came in, looked at Arya with tears in his eyes. He took a moment before he steeled himself, he had to be strong now. He had to be strong for Margaery, for the twins, for his sisters and his brothers. He had to be strong for Westeros, and in an instant his features hardened to the lord's face that his father had taught him to wear.

"Where is Ser Ethan?" Robb asked the room at large.

"He is being treated by one of the other Maesters in the White Sword Tower. He was trying to break the ice of the Maidenvault alone to get help for the Princess. He is almost as ill as she is, there is concern that the frost has eaten his fingers…" Ser Raynald said forlornly from behind the King.

"Inform me at once of any change, Rickard. You shall have whatever you need, speak to Leo for any-."

"Your Grace…the Steward is-…he's dead." Rickard said solemnly, causing Robb to furrow his brows momentarily before he sighed.

"I shall send his replacement to you. More of my court may require your attention, Rickard, but Arya's health is paramount." Robb ordered firmly of the man, before turning on his heel to march out of the room.

"Understood, my King." Rickard said quietly, looking back down to Arya's face.

Robb had not gotten more than three steps out of the Maidenvault before Dacey and Smalljon stood before him.

"Lord Davos has just informed me that five of our ships capsized in Blackwater Bay last night, we don't know how many sailors have died." Dacey told him in a hard voice. Robb almost swore but instead took a deep breath.

"The city needs to be cleared at once. How goes our progress with the castle?"

"Surprisingly well. All the hands has made the work easier, but the piling bodies are hurting morale more than the blizzard did." Smalljon reported. His usual Northern tones were heavy with sorrow and frustration.

"As I expected. Are the bodies being moved to the Small Hall of the Hand's Tower as I asked?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Last I saw we had fifty dead. A number of them were servants and guardsmen on duty, Leo Tyrell was found buried in the courtyard. A list is being drafted for you. Quite a few are still unaccounted for, such as the Martells and Varys, along with a majority of Daenerys Targaryen's camp." Dacey informed Robb with a touch of reluctance.

"Find them. I do not need war with Dorne or Daenerys atop what we now face." Robb ordered grimly.

"I can also confirm that the bodies of Ernst Cafferen, Marq Piper and Quincy Cox were found frozen in the guest common rooms of the Maidenvault just now." Smalljon reported bluntly, causing Robb to rub his brow.

"I need the list most importantly. Lord Piper will be furious to learn his heir is dead. Arthur Cafferen and Jacen Cox will need to know they have succeeded their fathers. Who else?" Robb asked as they strode down the corridor towards the courtyard.

"Lady…Hayford and her wetnurse were found not long ago. It's hoped that the young girl did not suffer, but no one can say for a certantity."

"Lady Ermesande? Gods…she was barely two, and the last of her line." Robb said sadly just as an odd sound from the skies attracted their attentions. It was almost a distant roaring and simmering, and it did not take Robb long to widen his eyes.

"It's happening again! GET TO COVER! ALL HANDS TO SHELTER NOW! RING THE BELLS! GET TO SAFETY!" Robb screamed, rushing forward to the castle courtyards as the roaring got louder and louder. Everyone around turned to the skies and screamed before running in all directions. Robb, panting from the cold, could not help himself but turn and look up at the sound. Dacey and Smalljon desperately tried to pull him away, but were rebuffed with each attempt by Robb stepping slowly forward with his lips parting. None of them saw what Robb saw; a fading spot in the black storm clouds from the east, the black faded to grey to white before vanishing entirely to allow a strong shaft of golden sunlight to burst through and bathe the Red Keep's central complex in its glow. The workers stopped running to stare as a magnificent, winged, jade-scaled creature of stories past whooshed through the hole in the clouds, its jaws were parted and green-tinged fire was retreating back into its fanged mouth.

"Its Bran…" Robb breathed, just as a cream-scaled dragon rolled through the hole, its fires enlarging the hole it had come through to allow more and more sunlight to slowly wash over the Red Keep. Just as Robb felt warmth on his face, a gigantic black dragon screamed as it's monumental fires all but cleared the clouds over King's Landing, allowing most of the city a respite from the darkness. The walls of the city and the castle began to weep as the rays of the sun worked its way through the frost.

Jon Stark shivered, even though he was seated atop a beast that radiated heat. Grasping his reins tightly in one gloved hand, he used the other to point towards the white-frosted Red Keep. Dany and Bran followed behind him in a graceful dive of their dragons. As he flew closer and closer to the ground, he spotted Robb standing with Ser Barristan, Dacey Mormont and Smalljon Umber in the largest courtyard of the castle, large enough to allow all three dragons to land comfortably. The beasts circled over the castle for a moment before landing one after another. Jon dismounted first, rushing for Robb as Robb rushed for him. The best friends and cousins embraced in a tight hug.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?" Robb exhaled, pulling back to grasp Jon's tunic with one hand.

"We came as quickly as we could. We saw it happen, we were over the Stepstones. Robb-…it's not just Westeros. The storm is growing, it was expanding to the isles and Essos. We could see it from the skies." Jon said, before both Stark men turned to watch Daenerys help Bran undo his saddle straps. Smalljon Umber was walking forward at once to help the Lord of Winterfell off the dragon, carrying him in his arms as Hodor would do.

"My lord, Your Grace." Smalljon greeted with a grunt as he hauled Bran off.

"Queen Daenerys. I am sorry for the poor welcome and the sorry state of Westeros." Robb said, letting Jon go to approach Dany who was quietly horrified by what she saw. She'd always thought of snow as something pure and magnificent, what she saw around her was not that. It was biting cold and darkness hidden beneath the white ground.

"I can hardly blame you for this. Though it seems we are just in time."

"I fear that is not the case. We are too late for a certainty. These snows would have likely buried all the country. We have no way of assured communication with my lords around Westeros, and it would be a fool's mission to march an army north through all this."

"Then what? Wait for them to tear the Wall down and march towards us?" Jon asked of Robb incredulously as the King hugged Bran tightly.

" _What would you have me do?_ Look around you, this is no environment for an army. I'd kill half my men just to get them past the Neck." Robb snapped angrily before sighing and pinching his nose. "Things are not good. Arya-…Arya was affected. She is in her chambers." Robb said through gritted teeth. Jon did not move for a moment, his eyes widening. Bran's lips were parted before he looked up to Smalljon Umber.

"Take me to my sister, Lord Umber. Please."

* * *

Robb and Daenerys had remained in the courtyard with the dragons, watching in awe together as the heat from the dragons' bodies melted the snow around them. The King of Westeros and the Queen of Slaver's Bay spoke of their shared alliance and their strategy for the war ahead as Jon and Bran were taken to Arya's chambers.

Sansa leaped up when Bran and Jon returned, flinging herself into Jon's waiting hug before wrapping her arms around Bran as Jon rushed to Arya's side. Gendry Baratheon, Arya's intended betrothed was pacing non-stop at the foot of her bed, staring with deep concern at the girl he loved.

"Gods…how did this happen to her?" Jon demanded, taking Sansa's recently vacated spot beside Arya to press a warm hand against her cold forehead. He had seen her condition at the Wall many times when he had been a man of the Night's Watch. The biting cold could kill those who were not prepared.

"She and Ser Ethan were caught outside in the initial storm, Ser Ethan only just managed to shut them in the Maidenvault, but the Princess was ill before they could get a fire lit. No man here knew how to treat her, and they could not get help until they broke through the doors. We're raising her body temperature. She came around for a few moments before you got here, she is very delirious." Rickard reported to the Hand of the King from beside the bed where he was pouring his golden brown potion into a steaming mug full of the Sothoryon chocolate.

"She cannot drink if she cannot speak." Jon said sharply, looking up to Rickard.

"When she awakens again, she must drink. We must keep her awake." Rickard insisted, moving around the bed to place his hand atop Arya's head. Smalljon eased Bran into a chair beside Jon. The young Lord Stark was oddly silent as he stared at his sister's face. Though he had faith in Rickard's skills with healing…Bran had a deep instinct that his sister needed something else to restore her to life. He looked up at Gendry, who inclined his head to Bran respectfully.

"You must be Gendry."

"Aye, m'lord." Gendry affirmed, his common born tongue still revealing the way he had grown up. Bran gave him a shadow of a smile before he turned his gaze back towards Arya. He took a breath as he slowly placed a hand on his sister's shoulder, his eyes rolled upward for the briefest of moments before he gasped and bowed his head. Arya consciousness was not in her body. It was all the confirmation Bran needed to bring her back.

"How are you with a net?" the young Lord of Winterfell asked, raising his gaze to Gendry once more.

"My…lord…?" Gendry asked, confusedly looking between Bran and Jon.

* * *

"I never imagined it like this." Dany whispered as she clutched one of the borrowed grey cloaks around her shivering form.

"It has never been like this. Winter hits the country hard, but this…?" Robb raised his arms briefly to glance around the courtyard they stood in. "This is darkness and evil. This is the snow my wetnurse spoke of when I was a boy. The North will have been hit the hardest…and my brother and mother are alone. My bannermen in the North are alone, and yet I cannot think of just them. All of Westeros suffers and I am their King. I can little do more than shovel against this madness."

"Is there a contingency for this?" Daenerys asked Robb, her teeth chattering slightly. Robb exhaled heavily, a cloud of mist rising from his lips. He bit his bottom lip, looking to the slowly-closing hole in the black sky that Bran, Jon and Daenerys had created when they arrived. The sun had aided in melting some of the ice that had sealed many of the buildings in the city, a contingent of Robb's men were slowly making their way down Aegon's Hill to aid the citizens, shoveling snow off the main roads as they went.

Robb glanced from the sky to the dragons in the yard; the cold air around them sizzled and simmered when it came close to the dragons' radiating heat. His brows furrowed for a moment as an idea formed in his mind.

"The dragons…"

* * *

"If one of you three can take to the skies, clear the clouds and perhaps even the wider roads around the city, we could see if this is a viable plan." Robb glanced from Dany to Bran to Jon, who all seemed conflicted about this idea. He had gathered the trio almost immediately after the idea struck him.

""You cannot mean to use the dragons to clear the snows? Do you not remember what happened to Harrenhal?" Bran asked in shock that was mirrored by the others.

"I do. Harren the Black burned in his hall thanks to Aegon the Conqueror, but we are not besieging castles. We are liberating them. I wish to conduct an experiment on King's Landing, and I need you to help me. If this works, we still have a chance. A _fighting_ chance to win this war."

"I'll do it." Jon finally said after several moments of tense silence. Robb glanced to to see his cousin's determined features. Jon had his doubts, but at the end of the day he was the King's Hand. Robb's Hand. It was his duty to back up the man who called him brother and raised him from a bastard at the Wall to one of the most powerful men in Westeros. "I'll fly Rhaegal. If it can be done here, then we can free the South from the snows, assemble the army in King's Landing and make a march North at once."

"Exactly." Robb said, a strong touch of hope in his voice. "Take the skies, Jon. Do what you can."

* * *

Rhaegal's wings flapped powerfully, taking he and his rider higher into the skies above the Red Keep. Jon exhaled a shaking breath before he placed his hand on the back of his dragon's cream scaled neck, his eyes rolled backwards for just a moment before he and Rhaegal were bonded again. It was unlike the way Bran warged into Summer or Viserion. Jon's powers came from his dual lineage as a Stark and a Targaryen. He was a natural-dragon rider who had the added bonus of being a skinchanger. Rhaegal listened to him, perhaps even more than Viserion listened to Bran.

" _Rāpa dracarys."_ Jon said quietly to his dragon who tilted his magnificent cream head to look over his wings at Jon for a moment before looking down to King's Landing and diving towards the Sept of Baelor. It was almost as though Jon was watching the world from Rhaegal's eyes without having to be in his head. It was a bond that he could not describe as he had Rhaegal hover around the great sept and begin to breathe fire. Unlike the strong jets of fire that Rhaegal had unleashed before to kill and consume his enemies, his bright cream-tinged flames were today soft and delicate as they first turned the ice and snow atop the Sept of Baelor to water and then to steam, leaving the walls and roof of the Sept untouched and unblemished.

Jon let out a half-chuckle of relieved surprise. Emboldened by his success, man and beast turned their attentions to the wide roads around the Sept. Wings spread, Rhaegal cruised down the Street of Sisters melting the mounds of snow and warming the temperatures of the city bit by bit.

Robb watched from his vantage point on the battlements of the Red Keep, accompanied only by Ser Barristan.

"It's working…" Robb breathed in relieved disbelief. It was magic countering magic as the dragon worked mesmerizingly to reveal the bereaved city that had been buried overnight. Shouts from behind Robb broke his focus as he turned behind him to see Bran and Daenerys mounted atop their own dragons and taking to the skies. The monstrous black dragon that Daenerys called Drogon flew straight for the skies, his dark fires unleashed upon the storm clouds above the city. Viserion and Bran simultaneously flew around the Red Keep, green-tinged flames clearing the courtyards, battlements and towers of frost and snow.

It was a sight to behold in King's Landing, after two hundred odd years the dragons had returned.

* * *

With the Kingsguard having retired from the White Sword Tower to recuperate and plan their strategies for guarding the royal family, and a majority of the Grey Cloaks and Stark soldiers being sent to aid the cleared city, the remaining castle guard were tasked to secure the castle. This meant that only two Grey Cloaks, including Smalljon Umber were protecting Robb when the Small Council formed in his solar. The two fireplaces were alight, along with several dozen candles and torches.

Jon, Daenerys and Bran had managed to clear much of the snow, but their efforts did nothing to stop the biting cold that had worked its way deep into the walls of the castle. And whilst most of the wide roads and stone buildings had been cleared, the thatched houses and wooden towers of the city were still covered in frost.

Lord Varys had broken out of his chambers pale and quiet. It was by now common knowledge that he despised magic of all kinds, his usual practiced demeanor was replaced with solemn features and a frown as he lingered to the side of the assembled group, closest to the fire.

Next to Lord Varys were the silent Martells beside each other, dressed in borrowed cloaks and furs from the King and Queen. Princess Arianne shivered where she stood, occasionally making brief eye contact with the brooding Hand of the King. Quentyn's arm was in a sling, having injured himself in his attempts to escape his frozen chambers in the morning.

A weary Lord Davos Seaworth was holding onto the back of the unused chair that was placed before the King's oaken desk. Having experienced more dark magic than most of those in the room, he was shaken by the power that he witnessed. But, he was a dutiful man and loyal to the Young Wolf. He had spent the morning desperately trying to get to the Royal Fleet, and had only just returned from the docks.

Brynden Tully was holding a steaming cup of mulled wine. A man with his age and life experience, he was not deterred by this disaster. He had been among the first in the castle to find his way out of his chambers and begin making order of the chaos. When he had been located, he was among the soldiers clearing the snow from the castle gate.

Willas Tyrell was leaning heavily on his cane beside the Blackfish, having refused the offered seat. There was fear that Willas was close to Arya's current condition, having been found near unconsciousness and his skin tinged blue from the cold. It was by sheer force of will and Grand Maester Rickard's expertise that Willas stood in Robb's solar at that moment.

Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont stood together, the former's beard shining from melting frost whilst Dacey was tightly gripping the pommel of her dagger. They were both hardened Northerners but even they were still pale.

Brandon Stark was seated in a second wheelchair that Robb had ordered built for him weeks ago. A fur was draped over his legs with Daenerys Targaryen standing behind him in another cloak borrowed from Queen Margaery.

The Queen and the Hand stood beside Robb behind his desk, facing the gathered group.

"Thank you all for coming so quickly." Robb said, pulling off his gloves to place them on the corner of his desk. "For those of you who have not had the pleasure, we are joined today by Queen Daenerys Targaryen of Meereen. Without her and her dragons, we would not have hope." Robb said, holding a hand up towards Daenerys who inclined her head almost shyly in greeting to the gathered group.

"You are most welcome here, Queen Daenerys." Margaery said, her hands hidden in her billowing sleeves as she stood supportively beside her husband.

"Thank you." Daenerys gave Margaery a small smile as the Rose Queen simultaneously moved to place one hand on Robb's back as he began to speak.

"The last time any army attempted to march through these conditions, half of them either deserted or died, the other half was defeated in battle. A Northern army could _perhaps_ survive…but they were unorganized still in their keeps at last word." Robb stated, his hands on his desk as he studied the map of Westeros before him.

"The entire army is divided across the country, uniting them was a difficult task before but now it is damn near impossible." Brynden said gruffly, swirling his cup of wine in his hand.

"I thought the same, my lord." Robb agreed before standing upright "Until the dragons came to us. These creatures are fire made flesh, and with us in this room we have three people who control them. Without them we would not have a hope, but already we have made miraculous progress in clearing our city."

"Have we any word on our people beyond the Crownlands?" Margaery asked.

"None, Your Grace. Due to the Grand Maester being occupied with the Princess Arya and the other ailments in the castle, I took on the task of sending ravens to the lords of Westeros. They took flight not long ago, we should not expect replies to start coming in until at least tomorrow morning, that's assuming our birds make it through this madness." Varys reported.

"And you hear no whispers I take it?" Robb sighed, folding his arms and clenching his hands into fists in an effort to warm them.

"None since last night."

"Cut off and vulnerable. This is exactly what they want. We were organized last time, we had an army twice the size of what we hope to gather now." Bran spoke up, causing all eyes to flick over to him.

"They will not get the best of us, Bran. If there is even one shred of hope left, then I will fight. We all will."

"Aye." Jon, Brynden, Davos and Smalljon agreed in one gruff chorus of support. Bran nodded before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The course is clear. We must amass the army, we must clear the Kingsroad. From South to North we must march, and you three must fly." Robb said, looking up from the map to the dragon-riders once more.

"I do not know if the dragons can maintain that much exertion over an extended period of time. You're putting the liberation of an entire country on the back of three dragons." Daenerys spoke up, feeling an urgent need to voice her thoughts.

"And your forefather put the conquering of the same country on the same number. I am not a fool, I don't expect the dragons to be able to clear the entire country. All we need is the main roads and great castles cleared. The more castles we free, the more men will be able to work beyond our reach."

"This is our only option." Jon said from beside Robb, looking at his aunt with that serious brooding look in his eye that most in the room had become familiar with.

"Very well. How shall we proceed?" Daenerys asked after a moment of silence. Robb put his finger onto the map and traced the Kingsroad south.

"To the Stormlands, the Reach and Dorne. By starting south, we can have them join us as we trek North and call the rest of the banners. I will send riders at your back with orders for my lords bannermen, with the roads cleared they should be able to form their levies and march for the capital to join me. Jon, Bran and Queen Daenerys will fly first in the direction of Storm's End, freeing Haystack Hall, Bronzegate and Fellwood and so on-." His younger brother speaking up quite suddenly and earning the startled gazes of everyone in the room cut off Robb in the midst of his plan.

"I need your leave to take Gendry Baratheon and a few other hunters to the Riverlands." Bran's solemn tone had Robb speechless for a brief moment.

" _What_?"

"Bran…why on earth-?" Jon's question barely formed before Bran was already replying.

"Its for Arya. The Grand Maester is valiant in his efforts, and if we had patience Arya could possibly wake in a few weeks. But time is not on our side. She is in the same sleep that I was in when I fell from the tower, the only difference is that she doesn't have an anchor."

"An anchor?" Daenerys asked curiously from behind Bran's chair. The Lord of Winterfell nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the Dragon Queen before continuing.

"Her direwolf. Arya lost her direwolf long ago in the Riverlands, and since then Nymeria has been lingering close to where she last saw Arya, forming the pack of wolves that have been hindering the Saltpans."

"Nymeria is the great she-wolf that killed Ser Harald Cox?" Robb asked, ashen faced.

"I believe so. If I can reunite Arya and Nymeria…we can bring her back. And she will be stronger than ever."


	37. Chapter 37

She lapped at the freezing pool of water almost lazily. Every one of her senses were on alert. She smelled them before she even heard them, not that they made any strenuous effort to stay silent. Crunching snow and snapping twigs would have sent any other member of her pack charging at the potential threats with fangs bared.

But she knew better.

She straightened up, her grey fur glistening with melting frost as her dark golden eyes focused on the group of men who approached her apprehensively. Arya faltered at first, staring into the face of her intended husband and momentarily failing to recognize him until Nymeria's instincts prompted her forward.

Bran, strapped to Hodor's back, watched the massive direwolf bonded to his comatose sister approach Gendry Baratheon step by step. Summer lingered close beside him until the young Lord of Winterfell silently sent his own direwolf forward to reunite with his litter mate, and allow Bran to communicate with Arya directly.

Brandon Stark slumped against Hodor's back as his eyes rolled upward whilst Summer simultaneously froze in place for a moment, his eyes flashing white. Bran moved forward, stopping just in front of his sister to stare into her dark golden eyes with his own vivid yellow.

To the group of hunters and knights that had accompanied Bran to the Riverlands the two direwolves merely stared at each other for several long minutes before Nymeria turned around to walk back into the woods with Summer trailing behind her.

Bran awoke with a start, pushing himself away from Hodor's back to take a gasping breath. He regained his senses quickly to look up to Ser Loras Tyrell.

"It's Arya's wolf. Prepare the party to return to the capital, Ser Loras. We can leave within the hour."

Relief broke over the features of the young Kingsguard entrusted with protecting Bran and leading the party through the harsh conditions. Even with the dragon Viserion having cleared most of the snows ahead of them, Loras had never seen anything close to the harrowing snows and impossible terrain they had trekked through, but he had made a promise to Robb, and to Margaery. It was that dedication that ensured the party's success after weeks of exhausting travel through a now semi-arctic Riverlands.

Bran himself was exhausted, it had been trying on his growing powers to keep both Viserion and Summer bonded to him, even harder still when he had to let Viserion fly leagues ahead of him to clear the Kingsroad. As he sat strapped to Hodor's back near the Stoney Sept, Viserion had already flown through to the Vale, allowing scores of Robb's men to deliver his call-to-arms for all of Westeros.

Even as Bran had left King's Landing, lords and knights were arriving by the hundreds, the Royal Army had begun to muster and form ranks on the outskirts of the city, and Robb and his council were forming battle plans every minute of every day. Bran had little idea of what had happened in his absence. The men themselves were confused and cranky, muttering amongst themselves as they turned to begin what seemed like a pointless journey back to the capital.

Bran turned his head back to where Nymeria and Summer had wandered off to. Bran could sense through Summer that Nymeria was sending her large and surprisingly intelligent pack of wolves north to await her, all but one female direwolf from Nymeria's own litter; she was a lean, graceful wolf still in her adolescence, with grey fur tinged with golden brown and yellow eyes that were warm with trust. It seemed symbolic to Bran that Sansa's wolf came from Nymeria. It signified to the young Lord of Winterfell his eldest sister's return to the Stark clan and her embracement of her Northern heritage that she had once rejected. He could sense a sweetness in this new wolf that reminded him of Sansa, and wondered if it was Lady's spirit in this wolf that trotted behind Summer and Nymeria as they returned to Bran a short time before the hunting party set back out for the capital.

Loras mounted his garron, horses that King Robb had ordered bred and supplied to the King's Landing stables long before the blizzards had come. They were small horses admittedly, but they were sturdy and no other breed could handle the harsh terrains of snow and ice like these steeds. Hodor, too large for even the biggest garron, loyally strapped Bran into his custom saddle before climbing into one of the empty supply wagons to sit on a bale of hay.

Ser Loras glanced behind him to the young Lord Stark before nodding to the two men entrusted to carry the party's banners. Garret from the Royal Army carried the crowned direwolf standard of King Robb, denoting them as a royal party. Hal, one of Winterfell's own men-at-arms raised the banner of House Stark.

"Steady on men. You know as well as I that the King rewards loyal service. The sooner we get home, the sooner you will be rewarded." Loras addressed the men who clenched their jaws and nodded their heads. Gendy trotted over beside Bran as they moved forward.

"What happened back there?" the dark haired Storm Lord asked seriously.

"Its difficult to explain, Lord Gendry. You will understand when we return to Arya, I promise all will be made clear. Get us home safely and quickly and Arya will be all the better for it."

* * *

As Bran had left King's Landing on his mission to rescue Arya from her ever worsening state of catatonia, so too had Jon Stark and Daenerys Targaryen taken flight on behalf of the Iron Throne. Jon flew to the Reach, using his control over Rhaegal to clear the roads blocked by snow and free the castles that had been cut off by ice and sleet. Behind the dragons flew the crowned direwolf banners of House Stark, unsure of his ravens reaching their destination Robb had dispatched hundreds of men on horseback to reach every castle possible. Daenerys Targaryen had flown through to the Stormlands in a matter of days before she set out to Dorne. Already below she could see armies flying their banners as they marched to King's Landing en masse.

The dragons were a spectacle across the Seven Kingdoms, with soldiers, knights, lords and ladies alike staring at the fabled creatures as they crossed the skies and freed them from being trapped in their own castles and keeps. It was the direwolf banners that brought reassurance and hope. It was King Robb's own hand that called for every able warrior to join the alliance of Stark and Targaryen against the Long Night. Many had fought behind Robb Stark in the War of the Five Kings, many more had prospered in his reign. It was the belief in the Young Wolf and awe of Mother of Dragons that sent Westeros forward at a time when it otherwise would have collapsed.

"With House Errol's arrival this morning we now have every able army in the Crownlands encamped along the Blackwater. If these numbers from the lords are accurate, we have almost sixteen thousand men from the Crownlands alone." The Blackfish reported, tossing a hastily scribbled parchment onto the pile of papers atop the war table. The Small Council had been suspended, with Robb having invited his Wardens and the most powerful lords in his army to join a larger War Council that seemed to spend every hour of every day planning their march.

"And more and more are arriving from the Reach, the Stormlands, and the Dornish Marches. We've received word from Lord Arryn that he will sail a bulk of his force to meet us at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." Lord Varys reported to the gathered men and women in the Small Council chambers, all of whom flicked their gaze to the head of the table where their King was standing with his hands upon the wood and his head bowed in deep thought.

Though the fires were roaring, Robb was imposingly large in his heavy wolf's fur cloak and black plate armor. Every soldier was armed and armored at his command, ready for anything that might happen. He refused to be caught unawares again.

"If Lord Arryn thinks he can sail through ice, I welcome him to it. But until he can accomplish what even the Iron Islands cannot, he will _march_ his men north at once. As will the Crownlands. Already the capital is full to bursting and supplies are dwindling. Lady Mormont, who have we put in command of the Crownland forces?" Robb asked, looking up to Dacey who was gripping the hilt of her sword as she stood between Smalljon Umber and the Blackfish.

"Lord Monford of House Velaryon, my King." Dacey said, gesturing to a handsome older man who had long, fair hair down past his shoulders. Over fine leather and velvet he wore a sea-green woolen cloak clasped together with a white gold seahorse brooch in honor of his House sigil. Lord Monford bowed his head respectfully to Robb as he stepped forward.

"It is my honor to be given this command, Your Grace." Monford said. Robb nodded at the man, remembering that he had been one of the many to flock to his side after he had taken Stannis prisoner. It had been Velaryon ships that heavily supplemented the Royal Fleet while Robb had been in Essos, and Dacey had told him that Monford was an aggressive soldier but a tactful commander.

"Serve us well, my lord. There is far more at stake today than petty land squabbles and a hunger for power. Lord Monford, I charge you with leading the bulk force of the Crownlands north to the Wall where you will join the Night's Watch and Lord Umber of Last Hearth. I will be assigning ten of my Northern officers from the Royal Army to serve as your lieutenants and to guide you through the snows and ice. Ready your troops to march at dawn." Monford bowed his head at Robb's order before turning on his heel to march out of the chambers with the other officers of the Crownlands.

"Ser Garlan, the army of the Reach is already beginning to consume their allocated lands near the Kingswood. Upon Lord Monford's departure, I want you to relocate your men along the Blackwater. I would send the Reach next under your banners."

"As you command, Your Grace." Garlan Tyrell. Dark haired and handsome in shining silver armor that was trimmed with the forest green of his House. His chest plate was embossed with his own personal sigil of two golden roses while a shadowcat's fur was draped around his broad shoulders. When asked where he had gotten such a handsome fur from, Ser Garlan had told Lord Tyrion that he had killed the shadowcat in the Riverlands before the cat itself could have killed his lady wife Leonette. Even Tyrion had struggled to reply with a quip following that.

"Your Grace, I know this is not the time, but I must ask again if there is any word on my uncle? He was two days away from the capital when this madness took the country and he has not been heard from since." Princess Arianne, herself clad in a heavy cloak borrowed from Queen Margaery, interjected with heavy concern in normally exotic tones.

Robb sighed, looking from Arianne to Varys who could only shrug helplessly.

"Believe me when I say that Prince Oberyn's life is one of my chief concerns, all my men sent south were instructed to look for him on their way. He will be found. The storms could have buried him in some inn somewhere and he is at this moment hacking his way out of the buried Stormlands with the passion we know him for. But until then, I need you and your brother to keep your focus on the Dornish Army. How many men can you raise?"

"In this? We can hope to raise half our strength at best, twenty thousand maybe less." Quentyn lied to Robb easily, causing his sister to rub her temple and sigh.

"Dorne is said to be able to raise fifty thousand soldiers…" Robb replied to Quentyn with a hollowness in his voice that his friends knew was dangerous. Every eye flicked between the Northern King and the Dornish Prince.

"A lie." Arianne finally said, looking up to fold her arms.

"Arianne." Quentyn said sharply only for her to ignore him.

"For the sake of proving that Dorne is now loyal to the Iron Throne, committed to the cause of a united Westeros, and will continue to be so under my rule…I can confirm that eighteen thousand men will march from Dorne. The reason as to why; I will reveal only to His Grace." Arianne said firmly as she looked briefly to Queen Margaery, who smiled at her, before she held Robb's gaze.

"Very well. As soon as your men are assembled, I give you leave to task a faction of them to search for Prince Oberyn." Robb said after several tense moments of silence. "These men will have ten of my best scouts with them to assist." Robb promised, standing upright to survey his council.

"This is a burden that none of our ancestors could have faced. It is a burden because we grew arrogant in believing that magic had died from the world and the Others were a story. But united, Westeros can defeat this threat. I thank you all for your service, and your belief." Robb's solemn words held the attention of every soul at that table, who bowed their heads and steeled their nerves.

* * *

Biting, burning cold. That was all he knew as he opened his heavy eyes and drew a ragged breath. The shack they had found shelter in a fortnight ago had killed three more of his men. The rest were hovering near the end themselves, groaning in their sleep as their fingers turned slowly black and their bodies consumed themselves from hunger. Oberyn raised a loathsome glare to the former Lion Lord, chained furthest away from the fire but looking utterly relaxed with the chaos around him.

Every so often Oberyn swore he heard the old bastard humming the _Rains of Castamere_ , it incensed him.

"What do you have to be so pleased about?" Oberyn finally barked across the small, rotting shack in the southern Crowlands at Tywin. The old, weathered man turned his surprisingly bright green eyes up to Oberyn and smiled a full row of white teeth as though he were a lion baring his fangs at his prey.

"Because this chaos is no longer my problem. Long live Robb Stark. Long live the Young Pup and all the Great Houses until the Others take you to the _Seven Hells_ and beyond. Without me, _none_ of you have a hope." Tywin hissed confidently, almost knowingly before he chuckled. His chuckle turned into a laugh that chilled the already frozen spine of Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper launched himself across the room, his frozen fist connecting with high cheekbones of Tywin Lannister over and over and over again until the Lion Lord was quiet on the ground and the Prince stood above him panting, knuckles bruised and pushed to his very edge.

"We need to move. We need to go to King's Landing or we will die here." Oberyn panted, turning to look at his men. Four of the men struggled to their feet, picking their pikes up as they did so and looked at their Prince with weary loyalty. Five others glanced at them before painfully doing the same. The remaining four could not find the strength to even raise their arms of speak coherently, their groans close to death. Oberyn slowly made his way over to stand over them.

"My friends. If you cannot stand…you cannot march, and we cannot wait. You will not survive the night." Oberyn's voice was hollow as he looked at them all, wondering if they even heard him or knew him. "Your loyalty to Dorne and to House Martell will never be forgotten. Do you wish for mercy, or do you wish for dignity?"

Their groans were almost in unison, one of them even managed to move his arm. Oberyn sighed, looking over his shoulder to the standing men.

"Let us make it quick for our brothers." Three men came forward to join Oberyn, their swords came down as one.

* * *

She wrung her hands before her as she slowly made her way through the halls. It was long past noon, the castle was quiet as it often became between the arrivals of new lords and the conclusion of war councils. She had taken to wearing a wolf's fur cloak much like the one her mother often wore in the North. Her hair alone often denoted her as the King's sister, but with her cloak around her, she had brought many lords and knights to a stop. She was quickly becoming a great beauty, a position that after so long under Joffrey's torture she had little idea on how to utilize.

She had watched for months now how Margaery's confidence and skill had elevated her from a traitor's Queen to the most powerful woman in Westeros. It was not a position Sansa coveted, not anymore. Of late, her heart had begun to grown fond of Willas, of Highgarden and the notion of being Lady Tyrell. But increasingly she realized that she could not rely on anyone but herself to get through the world. But even with that knowledge, she had no idea how to do that.

So there she was, while a war for life and death ravaged around her, while her brother rallied the country for war, Sansa waited for the one person she knew would guide her through what was to come. The one person who she knew would want her to succeed in the position that she currently held in practice if not in name.

"Gods, boy! Did I not tell you to light the fires before we arrived? I'm _old_ you know. This wretched cold affects me far more than you." Her biting tone almost stopped Sansa in her tracks. She merely paused for a moment, taking a breath before walking in to the common rooms that had been given to House Tyrell.

"Lady Olenna." Sansa greeted, curtsying to her respectfully. Olenna merely gave her a rare smile.

"My dear Princess, I would rise, but it would take an hour. It is so good to see you, my dear. What can I do for you?" Olenna asked, cutting straight to the point as she always did, quirking a silver eyebrow at the redheaded beauty as she did so.

* * *

"I need to tell you something." Robb said to Margaery as they lay together in bed in one of the smaller rooms of Maegor's Holdfast to keep in the warmth of the many fires in the room for themselves and their children who slept soundly beside their bed in their own cot.

"You're marching soon." Margaery said without looking at him, focusing her attention on playing with his calloused hand before bringing it to her lips and returning it to her breast where she placed her own hand atop it and held it tightly.

"How do you always do that?" Robb said with a half chuckle before he kissed her shoulder. "Once Garlan leaves, I expect Jon and Daenerys to be back. They can hopefully free our ships and clear us a path to the Wall to meet the armies as they arrive." Robb explained, leaning up on his elbow to look down at her. She slowly turned to look up at him with those brown doe eyes he had fallen in love with.

"I need to tell you something as well." She said, clearly not having any desire to do so before she sighed and leaned forward to kiss him once.

"What is it?" he asked with concern, as she cupped his face and caressed his cheek.

"I'm pregnant."


	38. Chapter 38

_**Hello Loyal Readers! Yes I know it has been a long time so here is answer to all your questions:**_

 _ **NO! This story is not abandoned! I am still working on it as much as I can, but writer's block and real life gets in the way.**_

 _ **But here is the latest update and I hope you enjoy. Do leave a review if you do.**_

* * *

King's Landing was not Westeros, even if most of the country had managed to temporarily congregate in the capital. The North remained buried under frost and snow as the Iron Throne struggled to reach them.

No one felt this isolation from the Crown more acutely than the only remaining Stark in Winterfell; Lady Catelyn, The King's Mother.

As King Robb's mother, Catelyn was the face for her royal son in the North. The face to which the Northmen delivered both their reverence and their complaints. Catelyn knew, or rather hoped, that Robb would not sit idle in the south whilst his home suffered. It was that belief in her eldest that kept her resolute in maintaining order in Winterfell.

Thousands of Northmen had flocked to the ancient granite castle when the snows had given them a brief respite. A small, makeshift city had risen around and within Winterfell's walls, creating a Northern capital unlike any seen in history.

They awaited word from their king, they sought hope from their liege lords and shelter in their castle. And yet in the face of the greatest threat the world had faced in thousands of years, tensions were running high amongst those who should have been united.

"I'll be damned if I hear lip like that from a fookin' Hornwood!" Lord Cley Cerwyn blustered, slamming his fists upon the dark wood of the feast table to stand and glare loathing at the man across him.

"The Cerwyns bent the knee before, I shall show you how." Lord Daryn Hornwood hissed, standing in response to place a three-fingered hand on the hilt of a dagger in his belt. In the great hall of Winterfell, lines were quickly drawn as Northmen took to support one young lord or the other.

The shouting grew louder, the shoving began, and steel would have been drawn were it not for the timely arrival of the Lady Regent of Winterfell.

Lady Catelyn had taken to wearing a heavy grey wolf's fur cloak, the collar of which was clasped together by a shining silver direwolf clasp. Through necessity rather than desire she was embodying more and more the nature of the Starks. It was only through what she had learned from her time in the North was she able to bring silence into her hall with only a single, sharp look.

The Northern lords and their warriors had snapped to attention, bowing their heads in shame as Catelyn stood in the archway. The sound of her steps echoed as she approached the two young lords who were no older than Robb himself. These were boys who had fought beside her son, bled for him, sacrificed for him, raised their swords to the skies and pledged their fealty to him; boys who had not grown from their time at war as their King had done.

"I need not remind you both that you are in Winterfell. I need not remind you both that you have sworn your allegiance not just to the lords of this castle, but to the name of House Stark. I need not say that you are acting like _boys_ ," Catelyn spat, that single word stinging the two lords enough to make them flinch "at a time when your people and your King needs you to be _men_ , to be lords worthy of the name."

"I apologize, my lady. The fault was mine." Cley Cerwyn said in an abashed tone, his cheeks red with shame as he avoided her gaze.

"Aye, the fault was his. But I too apologize, Lady Stark." Daryn Hornwood's tone was stiff, and his eyes more resentful than she would have liked. She debated reprimanding the Lord of Hornwood further, but settled on one simple statement.

"I will say this only once. To all of you." She said, turning her back to Daryn and Cley to face the rest of the Northmen, her voice rising as Ned had taught her almost twenty years ago.

"You have all known me for as long as any of us can remember. I am the mother of your King. I am the widow of your liege. I am the Lady of Winterfell." She held the gazes of a few particularly troublesome lords until they bowed their heads in acquiescence. She turned on her heel to glare coldly at Cley and Daryn.

"This will be the last disturbance I tolerate in Winterfell. Perhaps you and your men will learn to work together by relieving the Manderly troops on our walls and perimeter." Catelyn said, her intent quite clear as both men looked up sharply. It was Cley who opened his mouth.

"…My-…my lady?"

"You heard me, Lord Cerwyn. Your men and the Hornwood men shall share the burden of guard duty until I say otherwise. And you and Lord Hornwood will command our outriders. Together." She gave both men one last cold look before turning on her heel to march out of the hall, leaving whispering in her wake.

Maester Luwin hurried after her, his hands hidden in his sleeves for warmth.

"If I may say, Lady Stark, that was beautifully handled. With hope, the two might become comrades in arms yet again."

"Thank you, Luwin. But I tire of mothering these lords and warriors. Have Ser Rodrik join them to keep an eye on things. Have we any word from Robb yet?" Catelyn asked, the hardness dropping from her voice as she and Luwin entered Ned's solar. Not since her husband left for his fateful trip to be Robert Baratheon's Hand had this room been changed in any way. Robb could not bring himself to do so in the brief time he was Lord of Winterfell, Bran had not returned to the castle in over a year, and Rickon was still a boy and only Brandon's heir.

Catelyn clutched her cloak tighter around her, despite the two roaring fireplaces. Her cold and discomfort was not eased by the regretful shake of the head she received from her Maester.

"We've only managed to receive two ravens since the storm subsided. Both from Lord Umber. We cannot know if any of the birds we have sent south even arrived. But I cannot believe that Robb is sitting in King's Landing without doing anything to get word from us or the Night's Watch."

"Have we any word from them?" Catelyn queried, looking up to him from her seat. Luwin sighed, pursing his lips to shake his head once more.

* * *

His belly rumbled with hunger so strong that he could not even be disgusted with himself that it was burning flesh that caused his mouth to water. Fifty bodies burned on a pyre so large that the plume of black smoke could be seen from Mole's Town.

Lord Commander Donal Noye stood stoic watching his fallen men burn alongside the fallen wildlings.

"So much for your treaty." Mance spat out in a bitter undertone from beside Donal. The two men stood in the shadow of the Wall.

"Piss off, Mance. Our supply lines from the Crown were operational until this fuckin' storm. There's probably wagons of food and weapons meant for us that are frozen solid on the road." Donal said, keeping his eyes fixed on the blistering dead skin of Walton Rivers, a Riverlands bastard who had been in the Watch as long as Donal himself.

"Aye, and what has your _Crown_ done to remedy that, Noye? Days its been, weeks maybe since this happened. They've been picking us off like a fuckin' game night-by-night. How many have I lost? How many have _you_?" Mance challenged of the Lord Commander.

"We and the Wall are the last defence the Seven Kingdoms has against them. Jon Snow is Hand of the fuckin' King, I refuse to believe he would allow Robb Stark to abandon us. If the Wall falls, the North follows and I severely doubt a Northern king would abandon the land he was raised on."

" _Doubt_."Mance said, turning to look at Donal intently.

"What?" Donal asked, cocking his head in confusion.

"You said doubt. You aren't sure of it yourself, are you?" The King-Beyond-the-Wall's words were harsh and stern, his question rhetorical as he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Donal to stew in his doubt.

* * *

"Judging from your condition with the twins, I would confidently say that you are with child. Though you might be pleased to know its only one this time around." Rickard japed as he hauled himself back onto his feet and dusted his hands from the spot where he had been crouching to examine Margaery who covered her exposed belly with a roll of her eyes and a good-natured smile of bemusement.

"I suppose you have not yet perfected a way of a painless childbirth?"

"Would that I could, Your Grace." The Grand Maester chuckled as he washed his hands in a bowl of steaming water that his sole surviving acolyte had prepared for him. Robb wrung his hands behind his back, watching his Maester and his Queen banter as though the threat of death did not literally hang in the skies. Margaery took a tentative step towards him to place her own gentle hand atop his.

"It appears to still be an early stage yet. I would guess no more than a moon or two ago. You mentioned your moon's blood is a week late?"

"Around that." Margaery nodded. Rickard pursed his lips in thought before looking up to see Robb still several miles away.

"My King, this troubles you?" he asked, causing Robb to look up at him then towards Margaery for a long moment. Robb considered his answer long and hard before he finally said it.

"How could it not?" he said, looking at Margaery instead of Rickard.

"The last time I had to leave King's Landing when Margaery was pregnant, she was almost killed and our babes butchered. Now we face an even greater threat and my queen shall be alone again. The notion greatly troubles me." Robb said as Margaery gave him a sad frown and a supportive squeeze of the hand. Robb sighed, pursing his lips as he looked at her for a moment. "Leave us, Rickard. Attend to those who need you."

The Maester inclined his head, leaving the young King and Queen alone in the King's solar. Robb took Margaery's hands in his to bring them to his lips. He held them still as their hands fell back down, his gaze following their journey.

"I want to stay, you know that don't you?" he asked her quietly as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and raised his blue-eyed gaze back to hold her own doe-eyed look of concern.

"I know." She said, giving him a small encouraging smile before a graver look slowly took her features. "I also know that we do not live lives that could give in to selfish desires. You are not just any king, you are _the_ King. The King that Westeros needs now more than ever. If you do not lead them, we will lose _everything_. King's Landing…the Iron Throne…our titles, our families, our children…each other. So much more is at stake if you do not go than if you do. Against all odds…you came home for the twins. You were here to see the birth of your heir. You did it once Robb Stark, you've always done better. You will again." She told him, doing her all to give him the strength and resolve she knew he needed to march North away from her.

If she had the luxury of being honest, the sweet freedom to have what she wanted, Margaery would have demanded that Robb stay to protect their family. She would have demanded that they ride to the safety of Highgarden or even sail to furthest corner of the world away from this madness.

But as she had said to Robb, and to Petyr Baelish years ago, she was _the_ Queen. And that title meant the responsibility of ensuring the realm thrived, the duty to protect _every_ family and not just her own, the sacrifice to send her beloved husband away to fight for everyone and not just for her and their children. In that moment of painful selflessness, Margaery had to lie to Robb.

"At least something good came from that night, hm?" Robb asked, placing his hand over her belly.

"What n-…oh…" Margaery was confused for a moment before she realized that they had not been intimate since the night that Westeros fell to the snows. The knowledge that such horror occurred the same night that they conceived this child caused her a moment of deep concern.

"It truly gives me strength to think that in spite of the pain and misery…we can find hope." He said, giving her worries pause. She smiled a smile she had learned long ago, one to cover the true feelings she had and give the other person no reason to doubt her. With the burdens on Robb's shoulders he did not notice that his wife's smile did not reach her eyes in that moment, he did not notice that though her lips curled upward there was a force tugging the corners down. He did not notice the things that even three months ago would have had him pulling the truth from Margaery.

They held each other close with Margaery tilting her head up and Robb caressing the back of her head affectionately, they leaned in to kiss…

A horrific tolling of frozen metal bells caused them to practically leap apart, faces white with fresh fear as they charged in unison for the doors only to have Lord Davos Seaworth and Lady Dacey Mormont explode into the room with Ser Barristan and Ser Raynald right behind them.

"Gods…what now?"

* * *

The Myrish far-eye was cold against his skin, but he could not bring himself to tear his eyes away. Beyond the walls of the Red Keep and King's Landing, past the frozen shores of Blackwater Bay and the stranded, lopsided ships of the Royal Fleet locked in ice was a sight that made Robb's veins run as cold as the air around him.

"What is it, my love?" Margaery asked Robb quietly, shivering slightly despite the enormous fur cloak that practically drowned her.

"Ships, my Queen. Hundreds of them." Davos reported as Robb stayed silent and pressed the far-eye harder against his face.

"Lys. Braavos. Pentos. Tyrosh. Volantis. The Summer Isles." Robb's words were slow and deliberate until finally he pulled the far-eye down to look at Varys. "I see flags from every corner of the Known World that I can remember, and flags I have never seen before. What are we about to face, my lord?" his tone was as grim as their fate appeared.

"In all of history, the other regions have never united in this show of force and now they come to our shores when we are at our weakest?" Jon Stark asked incredulously.

"The Free Cities are our closest allies in trade, given our open correspondence I cannot believe they would attack us. They need us to defeat the Night King." Margaery said firmly.

"It is our openness with the foreigners that has led to this. We have trusted far too many far too easily and now we are about to pay the consequences." Robb sounded nothing like himself, fear and panic having warped the once liberal King's view.

Robb did not waste time, he turned on his heel and stormed away with his closest advisors behind him. Orders flew from his lips with every step.

"If it's my head they want, they will have to come get it. Lady Mormont, the army of the Reach is encamped along Blackwater Bay, liaise with Ser Garlan to have his soldiers form lines along the shore at once where the foreign ships will land." Dacey did not wait to incline her head or bow, she simply turned and ran to do as she was bid.

"Ser Davos have our sailors board the ships and man the scorpions. Any defence we can mount in our current state is a defence we will use. I will not let them take this city unbloodied." Robb growled. Davos did incline his head, musing for the briefest of moments on his King's command before mimicking Dacey and leaving quickly.

"Ser Barristan, your duty is greatest of all." Robb said, stopping to turn and face the greatest knight in modern history. "I entrust you with the lives of my family. You will take three other Kingsguard and a hundred Stark men to Highgarden with the Royal Family. You will take Princess Sansa, and you will leave two Kingsguard behind to protect Arya. In her state…she will be a liability…" Robb regretted his own words as he said them. Margaery, Ser Barristan and Ser Raynald looked at their King as though they wished to protest, but the tolling of the bells and the rising sound of a castle prepping for a siege forced them to realize that Robb was right.

* * *

Without a moment to kiss his wife or see his children, Robb was armed, armoured and standing on the battlements of the city with his top advisers watching rowboats stream closer towards them from the ships in the far distance. Some had already reached the thick of the ice, with men who looked as small as ants walking towards the solid line of Reach soldiers that spread out across the frozen shoreline of Blackwater Bay.

"If this is a siege, it seems like a bloody poor one." Davos commented wryly to murmured agreements from the others.

"Your Grace…they carry banners of peace." Dacey Mormont sounded as confused as Robb was, handing him the far-eye once again so he could see for himself.

To his shock and surprise he saw that she was correct. Every group that approached them from the fair-skinned people of Lys to the dark-skinned Summer Islanders flew white banners.

"A ploy?" Robb asked out loud.

"To what end? There's barely fifty of them coming to shore and the entire army of the Reach is facing them." Jon pointed out. Robb clenched his jaw, lowering the far-eye to think very hard.

"I'm going down. Lady Mormont, you have command. If anything should happen to me or the Lord Hand…the fate of Westeros rests on your shoulders."

"Oh…thank you…" Dacey said slightly sarcastically to her oldest friend and King. And though she japed, Dacey squared her shoulders and barked an order to her subordinates moments later.

"I'm coming with am I?" Jon asked. The Hand of the King had barely been back in King's Landing for a day after his exhausting task of liberating the greatest castles and keeps of the Reach from snow and ice. Rhaegal too was exhausted and even now was curled in a deep slumber in a warm cave underneath Aegon's Hill, unresponsive to Jon's attempts to reach out to him.

Robb did not turn to respond to his Hand, his words curt and to the point.

"If this is a ruse, I want you and that sword of yours at my back."


End file.
